Chapter 30: Things Left behind.

Elizabeth's POV

Dinner lingered in the air — warm, spiced, and just the right kind of ordinary.

The plates had been cleared, laughter tucked into corners of the kitchen, and Aunty Mara was sipping her tea with that serene grace she always carried like second skin.

Maverick had offered to help with the dishes, but she waved him off with a knowing smirk and sent him to the living room instead.

I sat beside her, my fingers tracing the rim of my cup.

"Aunty…" I started, the question curling on my tongue like something both tender and dangerous. "Do you still have my mom's things?"

She stilled — not stiff, just… still. The kind of pause that made space for memory.

Her gaze drifted to the hallway. "They're in my room. Bottom drawer of the old dresser."

I blinked. "You kept them?"

Aunty Mara nodded slowly. "I couldn't bring myself to pack them away like they were just… things. I kept them close, Lizzy. Not because I didn't want to let go. But because I knew, someday, you'd come looking."

My throat tightened, a knot I hadn't expected. I nodded once, unsure what to say.

The idea of touching anything that had once belonged to my mother — her real scent, her skin on fabric — made something inside me tremble.

After a long silence, she patted my hand. "You can look through them later tonight. They're yours. I was just keeping them safe."

I didn't trust myself to speak. So I didn't.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

A while later, Maverick emerged from the hallway, hair slightly tousled from washing up, sleeves rolled. He looked too at home in Aunty Mara's kitchen, and something about it made her raise an eyebrow.

"She should stay the night," she said, as casually as someone commenting on the weather.

Maverick glanced at me. "You sure?"

"You think I waited all this time for a drive-by visit?" she countered. "I've got a guest room that's never used and tea that needs finishing."

He tilted his head. "You're trying to keep her from me."

Aunty Mara scoffed. "Please. You'll survive one night without hovering."

She turned to me then. "Stay."

I looked at Maverick. Then back at her.

And nodded. "Yeah. I'd like to."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. I'll be back early."

"You'd better be," she said, mock stern, then smirked. "And behave. Or I'll tell your brother."

We laughed — the kind that didn't hurt anymore. That didn't feel stolen from grief.

At the door, Maverick turned back to me, brushing his thumb along my hand briefly. "Call if you need anything."

"I will."

And then he left, the soft sound of the door clicking shut behind him.

After he left, silence settled. Not heavy. Just full. Aunty Mara kissed my forehead, and pointed down the hallway. "It's still where I left it."

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

I found myself sitting alone in her room not long after.

The drawer creaked softly as I opened it. Inside: neatly folded scarves, a small leather notebook, and a single glass vial nestled in velvet lining. My fingers hovered above it all like I was afraid touching them might wake ghosts I wasn't ready to face.

The scarf smelled faintly of rose and something else — not quite perfume, not quite memory. Like warmth left behind. Like safety I'd forgotten how to ask for.

I set the scarf down gently, the scent still clinging to my fingers as I closed the drawer. The notebook stayed in my hand — like I couldn't quite let go of either of them yet.

The leather was cracked around the spine, the pages aged but intact. Inside, her handwriting curved across the paper, confident and loose.

The first page simply said:

"If you're reading this, Lizzy, it means I couldn't stay."

I didn't realize I was crying until the words blurred.

I didn't read past the first page. Not yet.

There'd be time.

Tonight, I just needed to know she had left something behind.

And that I still knew how to find it.