Dylan stood shivering. His pants sat slick upon his legs and his boots were weighted with frigid water. The brothers took a moment to study their treasure, which was, they discovered, more akin to a basket than a box. It was composed of iron bands, each approximately ten centimetres wide. The bands were woven together as one might do with wicker. The knit was airtight. Not a speck of the interior was visible. Will used the heel of his hand to wipe away some of the moisture from the lid. Two of the bands—one vertical, the other horizontal—felt rougher than the rest. Kneeling, squinting, Will surveyed the engravings.

If they were words, they were in a language of which Will knew nothing. If symbols, Will had neither faith nor imagination enough to decipher them. The markings were crude. Their asymmetry and jagged texture suggested that the engraver was rushed, or possibly enraged. The wedges, gashes, and curlicues formed a decorated cross that stood out from the rest of the iron weave.

Will was suddenly seized by a divergent memory: he hearkened back to Dylan’s and his parochial education. He envisioned the two of them now as being Pharaoh’s daughters, rescuing a floating ark from its reedy doom.

“Let’s get it inside,” Dylan said, breaking his brother’s reverie. “I’m freezing to death.”

They returned to the house. Will entered first, snapping on the chandelier as a defense against the gloom. The light made the dining room inappropriately cozy. It also illuminated Julie’s letter, which had been left on the walnut table; two tiny islands of white upon a sea of black wood. When Will had first arrived he’d found his younger sibling locked in a toxic fixation with this missive. Dylan had not merely studied it to the point of being able to recite both pages from memory but had begun to autopsy its script in search of hidden truths. Like a cryptographer, he’d started compiling lists that twisted the Dear John note into anagrams, into weird insect-looking hybrids of letters, not unlike the iron basket’s engravings in fact.

Will hurried to the table and swept away the handwritten leaves and the handsome envelope that had held them.

Dylan approached the table.

The foul runoff from the iron case made a brown stippling pattern on the carpet. Dylan grunted as he set down the box.

Will held out his hands dramatically. “What now?”

Dylan, breathing heavily, tapped the heart-shaped padlock and then exited the room. For Will the wait seemed vast. When his brother returned, he came bearing a small tool chest. Silent with focus, Dylan went about unlocking the oblong box.

A squeeze of bolt-cutters made short work of the heart-shaped lock, which fell uselessly to the floor. Will studied this heart, which, despite being made of iron, could evidently be broken as readily as any other.

“Ready?” asked Dylan. Will shrugged. He truly was unsure.