Yet the name troubled me.
Verity.
Truth.
The road narrowed until branches scraped the sides of my car. Fog drifted between the trees. My phone lost its signal twenty minutes before I reached the lake.
The cabin appeared shortly before dawn.
It was smaller than I imagined, built from dark logs and set among tall pines. A stone chimney leaned slightly toward the roof. The lake behind it was perfectly still, its surface covered by pale mist.
I parked beside a rusted iron gate.
For several minutes, I remained in the car.
Mr. Bennett’s warning repeated in my thoughts.
The moment you open that chest, the decision becomes yours.
I almost turned back.
Then I noticed something hanging from the cabin porch.
A blue scarf.
My mother’s scarf.
I left the car running and hurried across the wet grass.
The scarf moved gently in the wind. Its fabric was faded, but the silver stitching was unmistakable. I touched it, half expecting it to vanish.
