They’re coming tomorrow with the surveyors. I’ve hidden the deed in the only place they’ll never think to look. Not inside the house, not under the earth. Somewhere in between. Lilly—if anyone finds this, if anyone is listening—please. The glade is more than trees. It’s where the world remembers how to breathe.

Lilly’s throat tightened. Too sensitive.

And then she saw it: a gap in the stone wall at the glade’s edge, where the mortar had crumbled. Not a door. Not a hole. In between.