Letters from the grave

"The dead have a way of staying in the room long after they're gone."

The letter sat folded on the desk. Declan hadn't burned it.

The fire crackled softly beside him, shadows dancing along the walls of Michael Connolly's old study.

The whiskey glass on the desk remained untouched, the amber liquid catching the light but holding no comfort.

Across the room, Liam sat cross-legged on the rug, the small mahogany box still unopened beside him.

His fingers traced the edges, eyes narrowed in thought.

"You're just going to stare at it?" Declan asked, his voice low.

Liam glanced up briefly but didn't answer. His thumb brushed over the latch again, flicking it absently.

"You think there's something bad in there?" Declan pressed.Liam shrugged.

"I don't know. Dad left it for me. Could be money. Could be a bomb."Declan huffed softly.

"I doubt he left you a bomb, Liam."

"It'd be kind of cool if he did."Declan shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

Six years old, and already his brain worked too much like Michael's.

"Whatever's in that box can wait," Declan said, watching him carefully. "It's not going anywhere."

Liam's small hands finally dropped away.

"Yeah. I know."

But Declan could see it—the curiosity ticking behind his brother's eyes."What did Dad's letter say?"

Liam asked suddenly, his gaze drifting toward the envelope still resting under Declan's hand.Declan hesitated, fingers gripping the paper.

"It said Midtown belongs to you."Liam's brow furrowed.

"I don't even own a bike. Why would I need Midtown?"

"You don't," Declan replied quickly. "Not yet."Liam leaned back against the armchair, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Dad always left plans lying around. I used to find them in his office, but he never let me read them."Declan's expression softened.

"That's because they weren't meant for you."

"This one was." Liam nodded toward the box.

Declan didn't answer.

"You think Dad trusted me more than you?" Liam's voice was quiet, but the weight behind the words hung in the air like smoke.Declan sat forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"No. Dad trusted me to keep you out of this."

Liam tilted his head."Then why does it feel like he was putting me in it?"

Declan's mouth opened, but the words didn't come.

Liam's gaze fell to the box again.

"Maybe Dad knew something you don't."Declan's chest tightened at the thought.

"Maybe he was wrong."Liam smiled faintly, eyes still on the box.

"Dad's plans are never wrong."Declan had no reply.

Later That Night – Upstairs HallwayDeclan stood outside Liam's room, lingering as Dwan approached silently from the shadows.

"He opened the box yet?" Dwan asked quietly, nodding toward the closed door.

"No," Declan replied.Dwan adjusted his gloves, tilting his head slightly.

"It's a rare thing for a Connolly to resist curiosity."Declan sighed.

"He'll open it. I just don't know if I want him to."Dwan crossed his arms.

"Whatever Michael left him, it's better Liam knows now. Better than finding out when it's too late."Declan's jaw tightened.

"He's six, Dwan. He doesn't need to know the world's ugly yet.""I think he already knows, lad."

Declan looked toward the door, where dim lamplight spilled from beneath the frame.

"You ever think Dad planned this?" Declan asked quietly. "Leaving the business to him?"

Dwan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Michael didn't leave things to chance. If Liam's name is tied to the Connolly empire, there's a reason for it."Declan exhaled slowly.

"I just don't know if Liam can carry that weight."Dwan smirked faintly.

"Funny. I thought the same about you."Declan shot him a glare, but Dwan only chuckled, stepping back toward the stairs.

"Get some rest, Declan. Tomorrow's not going to wait for you."

Liam's Room – LaterLiam sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the box on his nightstand.

The soft hum of the estate felt louder at night, the creaks and groans of the old house filling the silence.

His fingers hovered over the latch again.

The box didn't seem heavy, but somehow it felt like it was.Liam glanced toward the window, where rain had started again, drumming lightly against the glass.He pressed his thumb against the latch.

It clicked.The lid creaked as he lifted it, revealing what was inside.Not money.

Not a bomb.Just... a single silver key.

Liam turned it over in his hand, squinting at the faint engraving along the side.There was no note. No explanation.

Just the key, resting against a folded map of Midtown.Liam stared at it for a long time, the pieces already clicking together in his mind.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath.