I never went back to finish tossing the hay. The sky dimmed faster than it should have as I stood there, the locket heavy in my palm, the note’s words burning into my mind. “The truth is not safe.” It felt less like a warning and more like a promise. The symbols on the silver caught the last light, and for a moment I thought I saw them move, like something beneath the metal was waking up.

That night, I left the box on my kitchen table, but sleep never came. Every creak of the house sounded like footsteps. Every gust against the window felt like something waiting. At dawn, I checked the tree line. The deer were gone, yet the sense of being watched lingered. I knew, with the kind of certainty that makes your hands shake, that taking the locket had been an answer to a question I hadn’t meant to ask—and that somewhere, the next sign was already waiting.