The morning had the kind of soft stillness Eli Turner had come to appreciate in retirement. The kind where the only sound was the distant murmur of Indian Creek winding its way through the valley, and the occasional rustle of leaves as the breeze threaded its fingers through the oaks and sycamores. He’d been on the porch since dawn, a chipped enamel mug of black coffee cooling on the rail beside him, the sun casting long gold beams through the thinning autumn trees.
He hadn’t heard a car pull up. That was the first thing he noticed.
The second was the sharp rap of knuckles against his screen door.
“Eli?” came a familiar voice. “You home?”
Eli set his coffee down, rising slowly. His knees, once mountain-strong,
had softened with time. But his mind—his mind was still sharp. Especially when
it came to the woman standing on his porch.
“Kate,” he said, opening the door with a small smile. “Wasn’t expecting
company this early.”
Kate Lander returned the smile, but there was a tension behind her eyes.
She was dressed in her usual way—jeans, hiking boots, hair pulled back
loosely—but something about the way she held the worn leather satchel slung
over her shoulder told him this wasn’t a social visit.
“Mind if I come in?” she asked.
“Of course.”
They settled into the worn chairs inside, the familiar creak of the old
floorboards under their feet. The air smelled faintly of pine and wood smoke.
Eli poured her a cup of coffee without asking, then leaned back, waiting. He’d
learned, long ago, that Kate would speak when she was ready.
“It’s about the ciphers,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady.
That was enough to make him straighten. He hadn’t heard that word in
weeks. Not since they’d sealed the last chamber near Dover Hill. Not since
they’d agreed—wordlessly—that whatever strange chapter of their lives that had
been, it was over.
Kate reached into the satchel and pulled out a folded, brittle sheet of
yellowed paper. She set it carefully on the table and smoothed it flat.
Eli leaned forward. “What am I looking at?”
“Library archives,” she murmured. “I was researching for the local
history class when I came across this tucked inside an old land survey. It
looked familiar, so I brought it home.”
The map was hand-drawn, the kind made with ink and trembling lines—likely
by a surveyor or frontiersman. But what caught Eli’s breath short was the mark
in the lower right quadrant.
An inverted triangle. Three dots above it.
The cipher.
But this one was different. Smaller. Fainter. And it sat over a location
deep in the woods near Indian Creek—a place neither of them had ever explored.
“That’s a fifth mark,” Eli murmured, voice low.
Kate nodded. “I checked. This isn’t one of the four we found last time. I
cross-referenced old plat maps, land deeds, geological surveys. This one hasn’t
been disturbed. Not yet.”
Eli felt the weight settle into his chest. That familiar pull—half dread,
half duty.
“You sure you want to chase this?” he asked gently. “We agreed to let
sleeping dogs lie.”
She hesitated. Then: “I thought so too. Until I started hearing things.
The forest near this spot? Wildlife’s gone quiet. The ground’s been
shaking—small tremors. And then this map shows up, like it was meant to be
found.”
She met his eyes.
“I don’t think it’s over, Eli.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The house groaned softly in the
morning heat. Somewhere in the trees, a single crow called.
Finally, Eli sighed. He reached for the map and folded it carefully.
“Let me grab my boots.”
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