What began as a landscaping chore became the unraveling of a family secret. When the arborvitae were removed and the odd metal box revealed, James assumed it was some forgotten utility fixture. Only later, as hornets swarmed and the attic filled with that mechanical, tortured buzzing, did he realize the box was an entrance, not an object. The pest expert’s refusal, the warnings to wait until winter, only deepened his dread.
Driven by fear for Liam and the unbearable noise, James forced himself into the attic, pried open the warped access, and faced the monstrous nest pulsing around the box. Inside, buried in the papery walls, he found not wiring, but a rusted tin containing letters in his late father’s handwriting—confessions of debts, betrayal, and a hidden life. The hornets were cleared in time, but the silence that followed carried a different, heavier kind of sting.
