Days had bled together in a blur of emptiness. Aiden couldn’t remember how long it had been since he quit his job—two weeks? Three? Time had lost meaning. The moment he received the news about his grandfather, everything else had faded. The world outside his apartment seemed distant, irrelevant. He had stopped answering calls from work, from friends, from anyone. What was the point?

His life had collapsed into a single space: his bed. The sheets, tangled and twisted, felt like a cocoon, trapping him in a cycle of restless sleep and painful wakefulness. Getting out seemed impossible. Why should he? What was there to face?

A faint ringing pierced through the haze. His phone, buzzing for the hundredth time that day, pulled him from the fog of his mind. Aiden buried his face in the pillow, willing it to stop. Maybe if he ignored it long enough, the world would leave him alone.

But the ringing continued, insistent, like a nagging reminder that life was still going on outside these walls. With a groan, Aiden reached out to grab the phone, but his fingers fumbled, and in his dazed state, he misjudged the edge of the bed.

With a dull thud, he fell to the floor.

“Dammit…” he muttered, pain shooting through his elbow as he hit the hardwood. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the phone still vibrating somewhere beneath him. He didn’t care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

With a sigh, he finally grabbed the phone, silencing it. Just as he dropped it to the floor, another noise cut through the quiet.

The doorbell.

Aiden groaned again, rolling onto his side. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath. He pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time.

“I’m not home!” he shouted, his voice hoarse from disuse. He expected whoever it was to leave, maybe another delivery guy dropping off a package or some random person who had the wrong door.

But then a voice came from the other side, calm and professional.

“Mr. Reynolds, it’s your grandfather’s lawyer. I need to speak with you.”

Aiden cursed under his breath, rubbing his eyes. The last thing he wanted right now was to deal with some legal nonsense. Still, the man didn’t seem like he was going to leave anytime soon.

With a frustrated grunt, Aiden pushed himself to his feet. His limbs felt heavy, his whole body aching from days of neglect. He stumbled toward the door, his annoyance rising with each step.

He flung the door open, glaring at the man standing on the other side. The lawyer was tall, dressed in a perfectly pressed black suit, with a briefcase in one hand. His expression was cool, professional, unaffected by Aiden’s obvious displeasure.

“What do you want?” Aiden snapped, his voice rough. He did regret snapping at him instantly, but it was a shot arrow.

The lawyer blinked once, maintaining his composure. “Mr. Reynolds, my name is James Callahan. I’m here to discuss your grandfather’s will and your inheritance.”

Aiden stared at him, unblinking. The words barely registered at first, his brain still sluggish. “Inheritance?” he repeated, his tone flat.

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“Yes,” Callahan said smoothly. “May I come in?”

Aiden considered slamming the door in his face but knew he couldn’t avoid this forever. With a resigned sigh, he stepped aside, gesturing half-heartedly for the lawyer to enter.

“Fine. Whatever,” he muttered, shutting the door behind Callahan. “Let’s get this over with.”

The lawyer didn’t comment on Aiden’s disheveled appearance or the state of the apartment—clothes strewn across the floor, dishes piling up in the sink, the unmistakable air of someone who had stopped caring. He simply walked to the small kitchen table, setting down his briefcase before taking a seat.

Aiden slumped into the chair opposite him, crossing his arms. He looked at the lawyer, his expression a mixture of annoyance and fatigue. “So what is this? What do I get? Some old books? His dusty house?”

Callahan remained calm, unflustered by Aiden’s sarcasm. “Your grandfather left very specific instructions for me to deliver to you. I’m here to read to you the details of his will and the inheritance he has left in your name.”

Aiden let out a bitter laugh. “He never cared about money. I doubt he had anything worth inheriting.”

Callahan ignored the remark and opened his briefcase, pulling out a sealed envelope and a small, ornate wooden box. Aiden’s eyes drifted to the box for a moment, his annoyance momentarily giving way to curiosity. He didn’t recognize it.

Callahan cleared his throat, unfolding the will and reading aloud. “Arthur Reynolds has left all of his belongings, properties, and assets to you, Aiden Reynolds, his only remaining family member. This includes his house—a large estate on the edge of town—along with all his accounts, and this wooden box.”

Aiden frowned, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. “What’s in the box?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Callahan glanced at the box before continuing. “Your grandfather left no specifics on the contents of the box, but he did include a note for you.” He opened the sealed envelope, pulling out a small piece of parchment. He took a peek and it was blank.

“This is blank.”

The lawyer paused, his eyes flickering up from the will to meet Aiden’s gaze. “Your grandfather said you would understand slowly. He also left a message for you.”

Aiden leaned back in his chair, folding his arms again. “A message?” he repeated, skepticism heavy in his voice.

Callahan nodded and continued, reading from the will. “He wanted me to tell you this: ‘Aiden, I love you, and I’m proud of you. I always have been. You are magic itself, even if you don’t see it yet.’”

The words hung in the air between them, his vision blurring a little but he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“That’s it?” Aiden asked, his voice quieter now, unsure what to make of it.

Callahan closed the will, setting it aside. “Yes. Here.” He slid the small wooden box across the table. “Whatever is inside, your grandfather intended it for you alone.”

Aiden glanced at the box, his irritation fading into something else—something he couldn’t quite name. Hesitantly, he took a peek at the box, he saw a lock on it with intricate patterns.

The lawyer stood, gathering his briefcase. “That’s all, Mr. Reynolds. If you have any further questions, feel free to contact me.” He handed Aiden a card, maintaining his professional demeanor even as he prepared to leave.

Aiden barely glanced at the card, nodding absently. “Yeah, sure. Thanks,” he muttered, though his mind was already elsewhere.

Callahan didn’t press for more. With a polite nod, he left the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a long while, Aiden just sat there, staring at the wooden box and the will on the table. His grandfather’s words echoed in his head—You are magic itself.

What the hell did that even mean?

He reached for the box again but hesitated. Something about this didn’t feel real. His grandfather was gone, but it was like a part of him lingered, just out of reach, in the words he had left behind.

Finally, Aiden leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the box. He wasn’t sure when, but eventually, he would have to open it. Eventually, he would have to figure out what all of this meant.

But for now, he just sat there, the silence pressing in.

He was hungry.