“Let me help you,” Voss said.

He knelt beside me, his joints popping in the quiet room.

His hands were spotted with age, but his grip was firm as he grasped the edge of the floorboard.

Together, we pried the wood back until the gap was wide enough.

I reached into the dark space between the joists.

My fingers brushed against cold, textured metal.

I gripped the handle of the security box and pulled.

It was heavy, weighing at least twenty pounds, and coated in a thick layer of grey dust.

I hauled it out onto the worn woolen rug.

The metal scraping against the floorboards sounded incredibly loud in the silence.

“Do you have the key?” Voss asked.

I picked up my father’s logbook from the floor.

I turned to the very back page, where the leather binding met the spine.

Using my tactical knife, I carefully slit the fabric lining of the cover.

A small, flat brass key slipped out into my palm.

“He always kept things close,” I murmured.

I inserted the key into the heavy lock of the metal box.