There were no documents. No money. Nothing that explained where he had been going or why he had become so distant. Only the same object, wrapped carefully and placed where important things are usually kept.
That absence—of explanations, of normality—troubled her more than the object itself.
When she finally lifted it from the drawer, she realized just how strange it was.
It stood nearly a foot tall, smooth to the touch, its surface etched with intricate, repeating patterns that didn’t seem decorative so much as deliberate. At the top were thin, articulated projections—like antennae or jointed limbs—arranged with unsettling precision.
It didn’t resemble anything familiar.
Not a tool.
Not an ornament.
Not something meant to be understood at a glance.
No one could explain what it was for.
