The Lost Daughter

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Suddenly, the otherwise nonthreatening white box takes on a different sort of weight, feeling heavier in my hands.

The knowledge of the school I'll now attend has been hovering in the back of my mind since the early days after settling here. But the weeks of August have felt never ending, in a way, so I didn't think much of it in any real detail.

Certainly not enough to connect the fancy, and no doubt elite, private school to the fact that it will require a uniform, though by all accounts I should have been prepared for it.

It's just, in all the schools I've bounced around in over the years I've never been to one, or around any, that's required it. The thought of short plaid skirts and pigtails comes unbidden to my mind.

It's horrifying enough to scare me out of taking a peek now, leaving the lid with its embossed shield crest exactly where it is.

"I'm going to take this upstairs." I tell my brothers, and Jackson, I suppose—from his silent but watchful position at the island, and quickly make my way out of the kitchen before any of them can say more.

As I make my way up to my room, stepping carefully as if the contents inside this box could shape and form into something more sinister than a few pieces of fabric I've yet to even see, I think of the scattered bits and pieces of information I remember about what it represents from conversations I've had since I've gotten here.

From Weston I know that our family built the school, in some capacity, a long time ago and that that's where the King presence in this town originated and grew from.

I know that a lot of the kids from the party go there, too, and I find myself wishing I had paid more attention to them instead of defaulting everything else to background noise.

I also know that there was at least the girl I met last night, Maia, that doesn't attend the school too—though I sort of wish that she did. I liked her and at some point, I'm going to need friends that aren't related to me.

I make it to my room and immediately head towards the closet, setting the box down harmlessly on the island. The glossy white of it fits in well amongst everything else in here.

I'm leaning over it with my palms pressed hard into the marble top as I silently go over my options when Wes walk into the room after me.

"How bad is it?" I ask him, not looking up from the offending package.

"Not bad," he tries to assure me, "as long as you're wearing the basic's, they're pretty relaxed about it."

I finally look up at him in an attempt to read the words he's not saying, but instead he raises his hand in order to drop something gently onto the box's surface.

I look back down as the metal clinks together and am awed by delicate beauty of the necklace I see laid there.

A thin golden chain leads to an circle shaped pendant, woven with ornately carved designs of gold set onto a turquoise face.

Slowly, scared to break it, I pick it up by the chain and catch the pendant between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the bumps of the gold over the pads of my fingers and seeing the mirrored pattern on the other side.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, unsure of what else to say. I've never held something so beautiful.

"It's a locket, you can open it." He tells me.

Now that he mentions it, I can spot the small piece on the side acting as a hinge. As gently as I can, I work on the opposite side to try and open it—hearing a small click when I do.