The Majors, Cold Fury (Book 2)

Chapter 75: Scott POV

Why was I so messy?

My desk was covered in papers and documents that I hadn't bothered to put away... I don't know how long some of the stuff had been there.

Organization was one of my few strengths, so I went to work sorting important things from trash. Everything was scattered everywhere, every time I shifted something even more mountains of papers would flow like a river to sprawl out onto the floor...this was going to take a while.

I yawned. It was already late...we had arrived back from Hyacinth in the late evening, but now it was nearly midnight. I had spent the few hours in between trying to get Erin to rest. She was more stubborn when she was injured though (I didn't know how that was possible), and our argument had lasted...a good while.

I pulled a book out of the midst of scattered documents. The cover was green, peeling at the binding and on the corners. Gold lettering spelt out the title in intricate curls, 'Major Genealogy'.

I laughed quietly to myself. I hadn't picked this book up in what felt like forever...not since I was 'ambushed' in the library by... had I really been that lazy as to not put it away after years?

I flipped open the book, coughing in the dust that exploded from the yellowing parchment. The pages were stiff and crinkled, but I could still interpret the writing. I found my way to the end of the book, or at least, the last few pages that were written on. Names scattered across the page, becoming few and far between the closer I got to the bottom of the page until I came across my name, connected to everyone else by thin golden lines trailing between names, and to two blotted out names on either side... I never did manage to get rid of the splattered ink.

I sighed, closing the book again before dropping it into the trash pile.

Several of the random papers were drawn out blueprints, many of which were for the railroad that would be running from Eastvale to Rivendale. I snickered to myself, coming across a few different papers scattered with incredibly messy handwriting from when I had attempted to teach Erin how to spell. Many were torn from where she had gotten frustrated to the point where she had ripped the graphite through the sheet.

A couple of them caught my eye, filled with drawings from when she was too distracted to practice. "Huh..." I murmured to myself, glancing over the surprisingly detailed sketches. Scattered between math equations were illustrations of swords, jeweled hilts practically glinting off the paper despite only being drawn in grey tones. Pictures of hand gestures and even of a pencil itself were traced along the edges of the page, smudged from where she had shaded them most likely with her fingers. A certain one intrigued me, of a large scythe, dark and menacing. The blade was jagged and hooked, made from twisted metal veined with something paler that I couldn't make out from the uncolored drawing. The handle was smooth and lean, and the whole weapon gave off an ominous aura even off of the paper.

Why was I surprised that Erin could draw?

I gathered the miscellaneous work and sketch pages my sister had made over the months into a pile, placing them to the left of me in the keep pile.

The stacks of objects and papers became smaller as the night went on. I sorted through folders, uncrumpled things that looked important that I had forgotten about, and throwing away things that I had no use for.

Near the bottom of one of the piles, when I began to see the wood of the desk again, I came across a binder, bound in worn and fraying maroon leather, peeling away from the canvas in many places.