“Long live the Queen,” Jameson murmured.
“The Queen’s Gambit,” I said, my mind racing. Maybe we weren’t looking for a chess set.
But before I could follow that thought any further, Jameson opened another drawer and spoke again. “Heiress.” There was something different in his tone this time.
I looked at the drawer he’d opened. So this is what ten thousand diamonds looks like. Each chess piece was magnificent; the board looked like a jewel-encrusted table. According to the binder, forty master artisans had spent more than five thousand hours bringing this chess set to life—and it looked it.
“You want to do the honors, Heiress?”
This was my game. A familiar, electric feeling coming over me, I examined each piece, starting with the white pawns and working my way up to the king. Then I did the same thing with the black pieces, glittering with black diamonds.
The bottom of the black queen had a seam. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I wouldn’t have seen it. “I need a magnifying glass,” I told Jameson.
“How about a jeweler’s loupe?” he countered. “There has to be one around here somewhere.”
Eventually, he found one: a small lens with no handle, just a cylindrical rim. Using the loupe to look at the bottom of the black queen told me that what I’d seen as a seam was actually a gap, like someone had cut a paper-thin line into the bottom of the piece. And peeking through that gap, I saw something.
“Were there any other jeweler’s tools with the loupe?” I asked Jameson.
Even the smallest file he brought me couldn’t fully fit into the gap, but I managed to wedge the tip through—and it caught on something.
“Tweezers?” Jameson offered, his shoulder brushing mine.
File. Tweezers. Loupe.
File. Tweezers. Loupe.
Sweat was pouring down my temples by the time I finally managed to lock the tweezers onto the edge of something. A strip of black paper.
“I don’t want to tear it,” I told Jameson.
His green eyes met mine. “You won’t.”
Slowly, painstakingly, I pulled the strip out. It was no bigger than a fortune tucked inside a fortune cookie. Golden ink marked the page—with handwriting I recognized all too well.
The only message Tobias Hawthorne had ever left me before was that he was sorry. Now, to that, I could add two more words.
I turned to Jameson and read them out loud: “Don’t breathe.”
CHAPTER 29
A person stopped breathing when they were awestruck or terrified. When they were hiding and any sound could give them away. When the world around them was on fire, the air thick with smoke.
Jameson and I scoured every single smoke detector in Hawthorne House.
“You’re smiling,” I told him, disgruntled when the last one turned up nothing.
“I like a challenge.” Jameson gave me a look that reminded me that I’d been a challenge for him. “And maybe I’m feeling nostalgic for Saturday mornings. Say what you will about my childhood, but it was never boring.”
I thought back to the balcony. “You didn’t mind being set against your brothers?” I asked. Against Grayson? “Being forced to compete?”
“Saturday mornings were different,” Jameson said. “The puzzles, the thrill, the old man’s attention. We lived for those games. Maybe not Nash, but Xander and Grayson and me. Hell, Gray even let loose sometimes because the games didn’t reward perfection. He and I used to team up against Nash, at least until the end. Everything else our grandfather did— everything he gave us, everything expected of us—was about molding the next generation of Hawthornes to be something extraordinary. But Saturday mornings, those games—they were about showing us that we already were.”