She knelt down and pressed her ear against the side of the trunk. The smell of dust and mold filled her nose.
The knocking stopped.
Instead, she heard something worse.
A weak sound—almost a whimper. A tiny sob, muffled by thick wood.
“Hello?” Camila whispered, fear chilling her blood. “Is someone in there?”
No answer came. Only the oppressive silence of the mansion.
But she knew. Something alive was inside.
The trunk was secured with a rusted brass lock. It looked impossible to open without tools. Just as she was about to stand up and run, her eyes landed on a small side table nearby, covered with yellowed books on property law and ancient wills.
And there—catching a thin beam of light slipping through a gap in the curtain—lay a key.
Small. Polished. As if it had been placed there recently.
Doubt flooded her mind. If Lawyer Damián found out she’d opened the trunk, she would lose her job. She would lose the money her sister depended on.
But the sound she’d heard was human.
Her hands trembled as she slid the key into the lock. The mechanism gave way with a sharp click that echoed through the room like a gunshot.