A Match in the Timber

I hauled the brass key across the dark oak, bracing its weight against my shoulder. Behind the paperback stack rested a compact wooden box bound in tarnished brass corners. On its face, a narrow keyhole caught the afternoon light. I squared my stance, guided the three notches into the slot, and leaned into the turn. The tumblers yielded with a sharp, heavy clack. The lid released, popping upward just enough to show a seam of dark velvet within.