The bell rang once as Mara reached the garden gate. The house beyond it was small, with pale walls and windows open to the river. On the steps sat her sister, holding two cups and wearing a smile that made the missing years seem lighter.
They did not begin with explanations. They sat beneath the chestnut tree while the tea cooled, listening to the water. Through an open door, Mara could see shelves of books and a long table laid with paper and sharpened pencils.
Later, she placed the green stone on the windowsill. The map lay beside it, its folds catching the evening light. There would be time for the rest of the story. For now, the next page was enough.