The village looked smaller now.
Mara walked through it with her hood up, not trying to be invisible but not interested in being seen. The streets were quiet, and the usual morning sounds felt thinner than before. Less real, like they were trying to keep up appearances.
She passed the baker's shop without glancing in. Passed the schoolhouse and the well. Her boots touched familiar ground, but something in her refused to call it home. Not anymore.
She wasn't going to the store or the square. She stopped in front of a narrow cottage with peeling blue paint on the shutters. No smoke from the chimney. No footprints in the dirt outside. But the curtains in the window had moved when she walked by earlier.
She knew someone was watching.
Mara didn't knock.
She stood still and waited.
The door creaked open halfway. A narrow eye peeked through the gap, then widened. A girl stepped out—older than Mara by a few years, with short hair cropped uneven at the sides. Her clothes were too big, like they'd been handed down too many times.
The girl looked both ways before speaking. "You're not supposed to be here."
"I know," Mara said. "But you saw me."
The girl hesitated. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door tightly.
"Is someone watching you?" Mara asked.
The girl nodded once. Then, she stepped back and opened the door farther. "Come in. Quickly."
Mara slipped inside without a word.
The inside smelled like herbs and ash. Small bundles of dried leaves hung from the ceiling. A pot sat cold on the stove, untouched for days. There were no pictures on the walls, just rows of books and scattered pages full of symbols she recognized.
The girl locked the door behind them.
"My name's Kaye," she said. "I've seen you before. Near the woods."
Mara didn't sit. "Then you know something's wrong."
Kaye nodded again. "I don't talk to people about it. Not anymore. But I've been writing things down. Keeping track."
She gestured to the table, where a large notebook lay open. Pages filled with sketches—of symbols, trees, fire pits, broken homes. A spiral that matched the one Mara had seen in the clearing.
"You've seen this?" Mara asked.
Kaye looked at her sharply. "I dream it. And sometimes I wake up with dirt on my hands."
Mara didn't flinch. She reached into her satchel and placed the carved bark gently on the table. The unfinished symbol stared back at both of them.
Kaye swallowed. "That's real?"
"It's not mine," Mara said. "But it's meant for me."
A silence settled between them. Outside, a cart rolled down the road, its wheels creaking too slow to be casual.
Kaye pulled the curtain back just slightly and peeked out. "He's watching me too," she whispered. "He comes by sometimes. Pretends to be checking on the town."
"Who?" Mara asked.
Kaye let the curtain fall. "The mayor."
Mara didn't speak. She didn't have to.
"I think he knows I've been looking into it," Kaye said. "But he hasn't stopped me. Not yet."
Mara looked at the notebook again. Then at the girl who had let her in without question.
"Do you want to help me?" Mara asked.
Kaye didn't answer right away. But she nodded, slowly. "If you're going to keep looking, then I want to know what I've been seeing. I want to know why I remember places I've never been."
Mara reached for the charm in her pocket. It was warm again.
Outside, a shadow passed by the window.
Neither of them moved.
Then the shadow was gone.
"We'll start tonight," Mara said. "The woods. There's something waiting."
Kaye's breath steadied. "I'll bring the pages."
They didn't speak again. But the silence no longer felt heavy. It felt ready.