Chapter 2 - Practical Wisdom for Old Souls and Older Houses

The student union café was alive with the quiet bustle of mid-morning: the murmur of conversations, the clink of cups against saucers, and the low hiss of milk frothing. Tilly sat in her usual booth, facing the wide windows where early sunlight cast a soft glow over the courtyard. Outside, a cluster of trees stood along the edge of a small, paved path, their branches nearly bare. A few dry leaves skittered across the ground, tossed by a light breeze that hinted at the colder days ahead.

Tilly’s notebook lay open on the table, and a growing list of tasks for August House filled the page. She traced her pen over “wallpaper removal” for the third time, considering it with a mix of determination and mild dread.

Opal slid into the seat across from her, setting down her coffee and placing her paint-speckled backpack beside her with a soft thud. She wore a loose shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing faint smudges of ink and paint on her forearms. She glanced at Tilly’s notebook with a slight tilt of her head, one eyebrow lifting.

“Making the master plan for the House?” Opal asked, her voice quiet, blending into the background noise.

“Trying to,” Tilly replied, nudging her half-eaten sandwich to the side. “It’s mostly just realizing how much work it’ll take. And the wallpaper…” She exhaled, tapping her pen on the page. “Some of it’s peeling off, but other parts feel like they’re glued down for eternity.”

Opal’s eyes brightened a touch, and she leaned in, a small, knowing smile on her lips. “You need liquid fabric softener for that. Mix it with water, spray it on, let it sit, and the wallpaper comes right off.”

Tilly raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Fabric softener? You sound pretty sure.”

Opal shrugged, casually running her fingers over a faint blue paint mark on her wrist. “Worked wonders for a set design I did last year. Though, you might need to experiment with the ratio… I can’t promise I remember exactly how much to use.”

Tilly’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “So, we might end up with a room that smells like lavender and still has half the wallpaper stuck to the walls?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Opal replied, her grin softening as she glanced out the window, her fingers tapping idly on her coffee cup. “Better than spending another night listening to suspicious grunts and moans through the dorm walls.”

Tilly chuckled, finally closing her notebook with a snap. “Fair point. Do you want to come over tomorrow? We can test your fabric softener trick in one of the smaller rooms.”

Opal’s eyes brightened. “Absolutely. And once the wallpaper’s off, you’ll need someone to help with the paint. I have all the supplies we’ll need.” Her smile deepened, and she added with easy confidence, “I promise, I know my way around a paintbrush.”

Tilly lifted her gaze, a hint of challenge in her look. “So, no avant-garde splatters in the entryway?”

Opal’s smile lingered as she looked down, brushing a stray bit of dust off her backpack. “Only if you’re ready for it,” she replied.

Tilly tapped her pen lightly on the notebook, her eyes still on the page as she ventured, “Is she really as… happy as she seems?”

Nick looked up, pausing as he processed the question. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Tilly replied, giving a quick shrug as if the question had just slipped out. She shifted her gaze to Opal. “Anyway, met anyone new yourself?”

Opal let out a quiet laugh, brushing a bit of paint off the cuff of her sleeve. “Not really,” she replied, glancing briefly at her coffee. “Classes, studio time… I think the art department is enough company for now.”

Nick gave a small nod, but his focus remained on Tilly. “So, you two really start tomorrow? The wallpaper’s ready for battle?”

Opal grinned, nudging Tilly’s notebook. “As ready as we’ll ever be. Tilly’s got her master list, and I’ve got a spray bottle and enough fabric softener to run the campus laundromat.”

Tilly chuckled, closing her notebook. “It’ll be a small victory if we can just get through one wall. You’ll see tomorrow,” she said, looking at Nick. “It’s… a lot.”

Nick gave a faint smile, eyes still on the closed notebook. “I can’t wait,” he said quietly. The three of them settled back, glancing out the window where a gust of wind sent a few leaves tumbling across the path, scattering in quick bursts across the paving stones.

Opal’s gaze lingered on Tilly. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll uncover something cool behind those layers,” she said, leaning forward with a bit of a smirk. “You never know what kind of surprises old houses keep hidden.”

After a quick goodbye, Tilly gathered her things and made her way to Intro to Sociology. The day passed in a steady rhythm of lectures, notes, and half-scribbled reminders until her last class finally let out. Pulling on a hoodie, she began her walk along Seaside Avenue, the cool, damp air hinting at an evening drizzle.

Seaside Avenue was just waking up to its usual evening energy. The avenue ran along the coast, hugging the beach, with beach shops, cozy-looking houses, and rows of local businesses lining the street. A few blocks ahead, the pier stretched out into the water, dotted with small groups of people who were bundled against the breeze. The boardwalk lights were beginning to flicker on, illuminating the rows of tourist shops with their displays of seashell trinkets, postcards, and neon-colored sweatshirts.

She passed Seaside Espresso, where students were crammed into the corner tables, their heads bent over coffee mugs and textbooks. As she neared Rico’s Taqueria, a warm, spicy scent drifted toward her, mingling with the ocean air, and from inside Pho 85, she heard the soft clinking of silverware and conversation spilling out as the evening crowd began to gather. People moved in clusters near the restaurants and bars, some laughing, others chatting softly as they strolled down the avenue.

Tilly tugged her hoodie tighter, glancing across the street where The Santa Creda Grande Hotel stood, its towering facade gleaming under the lights. The mercury vapor lamps lining the street cast a faint, blue glow, their cool light giving the avenue an almost otherworldly hue. The blue cast softened the edges of the street, illuminating the damp sidewalk in uneven pools that seemed to deepen the shadows between each pool of light.

Finally, she reached Seaside Books, its sign faded and its windows cluttered with stacks of secondhand novels and slightly yellowed maps of the local area. Pushing open the door, she was greeted by the scent of old paper and cedar shelves. The bell above the door gave a soft chime, and the warm, dim lighting cast a golden glow across aisles lined with mismatched wooden shelves. Each shelf was crammed with books whose spines showed years of handling: classics with cracked bindings, and travel guides from decades past, and titles in faded cloth covers that gave them the look of artifacts from another time.

The store held a stillness that made the faint creak of floorboards sound louder as Tilly moved further into the shop, past a display of nature guides and into the home improvement section. She ran her fingers over the book spines, looking for something straightforward and practical to help with August House’s endless list of needs.

Tilly was looking through the bookshelves when she heard a thud. A book had fallen from the high shelf, narrowly missing her foot. Its cover was aged, decorated with illustrations of ivy-covered walls, weathered stones, and an array of old-fashioned tools bordering the title. In faded gold lettering, it read: The Way of the Weathered Home: Practical Wisdom for Old Souls and Older Houses. The spine was thick, the pages slightly warped from age, giving it a well-loved look that suggested it had been passed from hand to hand.

Curious, Tilly lifted it, surprised by its weight, and flipped to the first chapter. The opening line read: “Every old home has a spirit—quiet, persistent, and wise. Approach it as you would a sleeping giant.” She raised an eyebrow but kept reading, finding that the book wandered between straightforward advice and something more whimsical.

One section advised, “To peel wallpaper, first greet the wall. Ask if it’s ready to let go of its past coverings. If not, return another day.”

On another page, she found a list of suggested offerings to “the house spirit”—bits of iron, rosemary, sea salt, “and a drop of spring water, if available.”

The book felt out of place among the other manuals, its guidance both strange and oddly practical. Tilly tucked The Way of the Weathered Home under her arm, along with a more conventional repair manual, and headed to the counter.

Tilly arrived at August House just before 8 a.m., bracing herself for the long wait promised by the Internet company. They’d given her a four-hour window, from 8 to noon, and she was prepared for a morning of idling around the house. But at 8:15, a white van pulled up the driveway and stopped just behind her Acura. She went out to greet the technician, an older man with deep smile lines and a streak of gray in his short, tightly curled hair. He offered a firm handshake, introducing himself as Happy.

“First, I’ll need to take a look around,” Happy said, glancing up at the tall facade. “Every old place has its own quirks. Let’s see what we’re working with here.”

Tilly nodded, unlocking the door and stepping back to let him through. She watched as he moved from room to room, checking where signal might struggle to reach through the thick walls and noting the house’s existing infrastructure. She waited in the kitchen, occasionally catching sight of him through doorways as he assessed the house.

Happy eventually returned to the kitchen and gave a small nod. “Definitely gonna need a mesh system,” he said. “We’ll start with a primary router here, then set up satellite nodes in a few key rooms.”

Happy unpacked his tools and began the setup. The first router found a home on the kitchen counter, and then he moved through the house, selecting locations for the satellite nodes with practiced precision. He pointed out where the signals would overlap and explained how the mesh would create seamless coverage, even in the farthest rooms. Occasionally, he’d ask her opinion on a spot, but mostly, he seemed to have the layout firmly in mind.

As he drilled into the wood paneling in a few spots and ran new wiring, the quiet hum of his work filled the house. Tilly watched him at times, noting the steady, careful way he handled each tool and router. His focus stayed on his work as he set up each node.

By the time he was finished, more than two hours had passed, and Tilly could feel the new network’s reach through her phone. Happy packed up his tools, glancing around the kitchen at the shelves of curios.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, nodding toward an antique ceramic vase on the counter. “I do a bit of work on the side—sell antiques and collectibles on eBay. Folks pay good money for pieces like this, you know? If you’re interested, I could take some of these off your hands, on commission.”

Tilly’s eyebrows lifted, and she eagerly took down his contact information, setting up a time for him to return. Happy patted the counter as he started toward the door. “Good luck with this place,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat.

Once she was alone, Tilly took a deep breath and glanced around. The house seemed to expand in the quiet, but she needed to make some headway before Opal and Nick arrived. She moved through the rooms, picking up scattered books and folding back dust sheets to let more light filter through. She worked her way toward the drawing room, clearing a few chairs so they’d have somewhere to sit.

Eventually, she uncovered enough of one wall to reveal the peeling wallpaper they’d be working on. She hesitated, remembering the ritual from The Way of the Weathered Home, and then placed a gentle hand on the wall. “Are you ready to let this go?” she murmured.

The house remained still, with only the faint creaks from its settling frame. Tilly stepped back, shrugging. If the wallpaper wasn’t protesting, she figured they had the green light to begin.

A short while later, the doorbell chimed, and Tilly opened it to find Opal standing in the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the entryway. She looked up at the high ceiling and the detailed moldings, giving a low whistle. “This place is even more impressive than you described,” she said, her voice dropping slightly as she stepped inside.

Tilly laughed, leading her friend down the hall. Opal immediately began looking around, her gaze shifting from one doorway to the next, pausing now and then to take in a detail or two. They made their way toward the drawing room, but as they passed down the hall, Opal’s gaze lingered on the staircase, especially the landing above.

“So many rooms,” she murmured, barely glancing back at Tilly. “If you ever get tired of all this space, you know… I’m always looking for a good excuse to leave the dorms.”

Tilly smiled. “We’ll see.”

Opal paused just outside the drawing room door, her hand resting on the worn banister, fingertips tracing the smooth grooves in the wood. Her hands bore faint smudges of blue and ochre paint, remnants of her last project. “A house like this needs people in it,” she said. “Just imagine the free labor you’d get out of me, for starters.”

Tilly laughed, glancing over the drawing room. The high ceilings and wide, empty walls made the space feel large, far more than she could ever fill alone. “True, I could use someone willing to haul boxes and maybe do some painting. But living here?” She hesitated, running her fingers over the smooth wood of a nearby chair. “It is a lot of space.”

“Which is exactly why you need someone to split it with,” Opal replied, crossing her arms as she brushed a loose strand of dark hair from her face. “And I’d be a quiet roommate. You wouldn’t even notice me.”

Tilly raised an eyebrow, meeting Opal’s gaze. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second. I have a feeling you’d make yourself known.”

Opal laughed, her thumb idly brushing over a faint fleck of paint on her wrist. “Only when you wanted me to. And you know, these walls would make a great gallery or maybe some murals. Imagine some color, something to bring it to life.”

Tilly’s gaze drifted over the room, picturing how it might look with more life in it. “All right,” she said. “I’ll consider it. But I’m not making any promises.”

Opal’s face broke into a grin as she glanced back up the staircase, her hand resting lightly on the railing as though picturing herself already part of the scene.

A knock echoed through the house, followed by Nick’s familiar voice calling, “We’re here!”

Nick appeared in the doorway a moment later, his tall frame filling the space as he looked around. Just behind him stood Aphid, a bright figure in the dusty house. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves, and she wore a fitted top in a blush color paired with slim jeans and ankle boots. Her gaze moved over the room, lingering on the high ceiling and faded wallpaper.

Tilly wore a teal T-shirt tucked into sturdy khaki shorts, her brown belt snug around her waist, and thick socks pulled up above her worn-in hiking boots. Her short, dark hair framed her face, staying clear of her eyes. She was dressed simply for work.

Beside her, Opal had dressed in a loose sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing a bare stretch of skin at the collarbone. Her jeans were impractically loose to the point of being in danger of falling off, loosely rolled at the cuffs. She leaned against the doorway, her eyes moving between Aphid and Tilly with a faint glint.

“Wow,” Aphid said, her eyes moving slowly over the space. “This house has such a powerful aura. You can feel it, right?” She turned to Tilly and Opal, lifting her hand with open fingers. “It’s like the house has layers… waiting to unfold.”

Tilly nodded, keeping her expression neutral, but her eyes flicked to Opal, who met her gaze and gave a quick, slight nod in response. Nick, meanwhile, set down the tool bag he’d brought and looked around with a slow nod. “This place is even bigger than I remembered,” he said, taking in the room. “You’ve got your work cut out for you here, Tilly.”

“Oh, I think she’s got a lot more than just work here,” Aphid added, placing her fingertips lightly against the wall. “You can almost see the stories. Each wall just waiting to be heard.”

Opal leaned against the doorframe, her shoulder barely holding the loose fabric of her sweater in place. “Oh, definitely. If we listen hard enough, maybe the walls will proposition us.”

Aphid nodded, her gaze resting on the wall. “Yes! It’s practically alive, don’t you think?” She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply as if the air held something rich and unseen. “The house is ready for change, but we need to go gently. It’s been holding on for so long.”

Tilly gave Aphid a nod. “That’s great, Aphid. It’s nice to have someone who can appreciate… that side of things.” She glanced at Opal, who was pulling on a pair of work gloves, her mouth set but with a slight tilt.

Nick, now holding a utility knife, looked around the room. “So, are we all set to start peeling back the layers of this place?”

Opal slid him a brief smile. “Absolutely, Nick. This house is just aching to show us some skin.” She shot Tilly a quick look, holding her gaze a beat longer before turning back to the wall and giving it a light pat. “You’re a saucy girl, aren’t you, August House?”

Aphid looked momentarily confused but then brightened. “Yes! It’s like an awakening,” she said, nodding emphatically.

Tilly cleared her throat, gesturing to The Way of the Weathered Home, which rested on the side table. She picked it up, flipping through its worn pages to a passage she’d noticed earlier. “So, apparently, there’s a ritual you’re supposed to do before taking down wallpaper. Here it is…” She ran her finger down the lines and then read aloud:

“‘Before removing anything, ask the house if it’s ready to let go. Walls are more than paint and paper—they hold memories, like pressed flowers in a book. If you go in with a heavy hand, you might find resistance. But a gentle ask? That’s the way to uncover a place’s true self.’”

She glanced up. “Aphid. You seem... in touch with the spirits. Would you like to do the honors?”

Aphid’s eyes brightened, and she stepped to the center of the drawing room with a sweeping motion, placing one hand on the wall, her head tilted, her breathing slowing. The others watched as she pressed her palm flat, tracing slow circles over the wallpaper’s textured pattern.

“August House,” she said softly, her voice calm. “Are you ready to reveal yourself, layer by layer?” Her hand glided down the wall, fingertips dragging slightly, feeling every ridge and crease of the paper. She paused, then opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she declared. “The house wants to be seen.”

Tilly nodded to Opal. “All right, then. Opal, you’re up with the spray.”

Opal picked up the spray bottle, filled with the fabric-softener solution they’d prepared. She gave a few test sprays on the wall, misting it until a scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the musty odor of old paper. She adjusted the nozzle, then moved along the wall, covering the wallpaper with a thin, damp layer, her strokes steady. Each spray landed with a soft hiss, droplets beading on the surface before darkening the faded pattern.

Nick, following instructions from a more practical handbook that Tilly had found, picked up a utility knife and started scoring the wallpaper. His first few attempts dug a bit too deep, leaving narrow cuts that nicked the plaster beneath. “Uh, is it supposed to go all the way through?” he asked, eyeing the slight grooves in the wall.

Opal glanced over, adjusting her hold on the spray bottle. “Not quite. Just a light touch,” she replied, demonstrating with a quick, gentle scrape along the wall. “You’re just helping it soak in a bit.”

Nick nodded and adjusted his pressure, finding a rhythm as he scored the paper in careful, deliberate strokes. Though he managed to keep most of his cuts in place, his blade occasionally veered off track, leaving a few jagged edges as he moved alongside Opal.

Opal paused, giving him room, then wiped her damp fingers on her jeans, glancing at the book on the side table. “Why don’t you read us a bit of that guidebook, Aphid? Could use some wisdom while we peel back history.”

Aphid picked up The Way of the Weathered Home and flipped it open, her fingers sliding across the faded pages as she skimmed. “‘The spirit of a house lies in the patience of its walls,’” she read. “‘Take care when peeling back the layers; each scratch, each line, is a memory to be honored.’” She looked up, resting her hand lightly on the wall again, as if feeling for some echo of those memories.

Opal arched an eyebrow. “We don’t want to anger the walls…not yet anyway.”

Nick gave a short huff of laughter, pressing a corner of the peeling wallpaper, which came off in uneven strips, the edges curling under his hands. “Guess that makes me the defiler,” he muttered, eyes on the wall as he pried away another piece. It tore halfway, leaving an uneven patch. “This stuff’s really sticking in some spots.”

Opal nudged him lightly with her elbow, reaching past to peel a stubborn edge. “Nah, you’re just helping it let go. Besides, I’d say it’s due for a little shedding.” She tugged the strip, which came off in jagged sections, leaving rough patches of plaster and faded color beneath.

Aphid skimmed to another part of the book and read aloud. “‘Remember, the walls are only as strong as the memories they hold. A gentle hand and a respectful touch will coax even the most reluctant histories from their layers.’” She looked at Nick, tilting her head slightly.

Nick returned a quick nod, half-smiling as he tackled another section with more care. He held the wallpaper gently, prying it loose in slow pulls, the strips coming off in different widths, some wider and some narrow.

Meanwhile, Opal sprayed another section, watching the solution seep into the paper, darkening it with a soft, lavender-tinged sheen. “It looks like your ‘respectful touch’ is working,” she murmured to Tilly, glancing back with a faint smirk. Maybe the walls have decided we’re trustworthy after all.”

Aphid glanced at the book, reading aloud with the same deliberate pace. “‘If a wall resists, speak to it gently. Remind it of the beauty that lies beyond the layer it clings to.’” She placed her hand on the wall again, closing her eyes and murmuring, “You’re beautiful as you are…but there’s so much more to show.”

Opal looked over. “You're gonna love this, baby, we’re gonna make you so sexy... Sexy, sexy house.”

Nick gave a low chuckle, peeling away another strip and letting it drop to the growing pile on the floor. “Can’t promise that, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

They worked steadily, with Opal following up with the spray as Nick continued peeling and scoring. Aphid read aloud every so often, her voice softening the space as she dropped phrases into the quiet with an even, almost rhythmic tone.

Tilly stepped back, watching them all—the ritual unfolding around her, the old walls of August House gradually revealing themselves in irregular patches beneath their hands. The scent of softened glue and lavender hung in the air, mixing with the faint odor of old wood and dust as the room opened up, layer by layer.

After a couple of hours, the last strip of wallpaper finally peeled away, fluttering to the floor in a crumpled heap. Tilly, Nick, Opal, and Aphid stepped back, each glancing over the now-exposed wall with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. Beneath the wallpaper, the walls were paneled in wood, its surface marked with years of darkened stain, the grain visible but dulled. The wood was weathered and worn in places, with faint lines and patches that hinted at its age, but it held a quiet dignity compared to the tired wallpaper that had covered it.

Opal ran a hand over the panels, her fingers tracing the grain that was rougher than expected. “Now this,” she murmured, “is way better than that floral prison.”

Nick nodded, brushing a bit of lingering dust from the wood. “It’s solid too—feels like the real deal,” he said, giving it a light tap. The sound was steady and warm, a far cry from the hollow scrape of the wallpaper’s peeling layers.

Tilly tilted her head, studying the wall with fresh eyes. “It could use some polish and maybe a little stain touch-up, but it’s a big improvement. I didn’t even know there was wood paneling under all that.”

Aphid stepped back, clasping her hands together. “It’s like the house wanted to show us this. I mean, just look at it—it’s been hidden under wallpaper for who knows how long, and now it’s back to being itself.”

Opal smirked. “Good thing we asked first, then,” she said, giving Tilly a sideways glance. “Imagine not knowing this was under here.”

Tilly picked up a dust rag and started to wipe down the panels, watching as a faint sheen began to emerge, giving the wood a slightly deeper hue. In the afternoon light slanting through the window, the paneling took on a soft glow, adding a warmth to the room that had been missing before.

Tilly led the group from the drawing room, navigating a path through stacked furniture draped in dust sheets and crates piled high along the hallway walls. She pointed out the grand staircase, its banister ornately carved but scuffed from years of hands running over it, and gestured to the hallway lined with closed doors and framed portraits obscured by dust.

As they entered the living room, a massive stone fireplace came into view, dominating one wall with rough, weathered stones stacked to the ceiling. Dust sheets hung loosely over the furniture, casting pale shapes in the afternoon light filtering through bay windows. Aphid’s eyes went wide as she looked around, taking in the room’s size and the weight of the old stone hearth.

“This is incredible,” she breathed, moving closer to the fireplace. “Can you imagine what it’d look like all polished up? It’s practically its own monument.”

Nick lingered near the doorway, nodding as he took in the space. “The stone’s solid—this place was built to last,” he noted, tapping the hearthstone lightly. “A little cleaning and it’d be good to go.”

They continued to the dining room, where a long, stately table took up most of the room, its carved wooden legs just visible beneath layers of dust. Chairs with fading upholstery circled it, their high backs framed by the tarnished chandelier hanging above.

Opal ran her hand along the back of one of the chairs, her gaze flicking to the windows, where light filtered through, softening the worn lines of the room. “It has atmosphere,” she said simply, before glancing at Tilly, her fingers trailing off the chair and brushing lightly against Tilly’s back as they moved on.

Tilly paused for a moment. “Once we get past the dust, who knows?”

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, where Tilly pointed out the large master bedroom. Sunlight filtered through tall windows overlooking the ocean, casting soft light on the four-poster bed draped in heavy, faded fabric. The glass doors led to a small balcony, its iron railings rusted but intact.

Opal’s gaze lingered on the balcony for a moment. “That view,” she remarked quietly.

Tilly acknowledged it with a slight nod, then led them to the master bathroom. The door creaked open, revealing a clawfoot tub set by a window, its glass panes cloudy with age. Dual vanities stretched along one wall, their marble countertops dulled, and the shower stall featured multiple nozzles, hinting at the room’s former luxury.

Aphid clapped her hands lightly, stepping into the bathroom and glancing around. “This could be an oasis. Just look at that tub!” She brushed her fingers along its rim. “Imagine sinking in with a view like that.”

Opal glanced at the shower stall. “With all those nozzles, think of the things you could do in there,” she remarked.

Tilly raised an eyebrow and said, “Let’s make sure it all works first,” before moving them back into the hallway.

They climbed the narrow stairs to the third floor, reaching the quieter rooms at the top of the house. Tilly opened the door to a small room with a narrow wrought-iron bed frame and a small writing desk by the window.

Opal stepped inside, peering through the dusty glass. “It’s cozy,” she remarked, leaning casually against the desk. “Perfect light for a studio.”

Tilly studied her for a moment. “This room would suit you.”

The tour ended in the basement. The stairs creaked underfoot as they descended into the dim, musty space. Boxes and trunks lined the walls, stacked to the ceiling in places, their surfaces covered in thick layers of dust. Tilly pulled the chain of a single hanging light bulb, illuminating faded tapestries, dusty crates of china, and stacks of antique furniture tucked into every corner.

Nick picked up a delicate teacup, brushing off the dust. “These might be worth something,” he observed, carefully setting it back into its box.

Aphid looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the shelves and boxes. “It’s like a whole world down here,” she whispered, reaching out to touch a box with intricate carvings. “Who knows what’s hiding in all this?”

Back upstairs, Tilly surveyed the group, her gaze shifting over each of them. She turned to Opal, raising an eyebrow.

“So, Opal,” Tilly began, a knowing look crossing her face, “since you’ve been dropping hints, if you’re really interested in a change from dorm life…you’re welcome to stay here. Could use the company—and maybe a hand or two with the endless work this place needs.”

Opal’s eyes sparked, though she kept her tone light. “Oh, I could be persuaded. I think this place and I could get along just fine.”

Nick leaned against the wall, a grin forming. “Room and board in exchange for restoration duty? Not a bad offer. Count me in if you need the extra muscle.”

Tilly nodded, then hesitated, her gaze drifting to Aphid, who looked up with hopeful eyes. She paused a moment longer than she had with the others.

Aphid clasped her hands, clearly eager. “Honestly, Tilly, this house is a dream. I’d love to help out however I can. Imagine what we could bring out in it!”

Tilly took a slow breath, then gave a small nod. “All right, Aphid. There’s certainly enough space for one more set of hands.”

As they stood there, glancing around the hallway and at each other, there was a long, awkward pause before Opal said, “I gotta pee.”