Origen
The ruins of the old library smoldered behind them, dust drifting through the air like ash from a long-dead fire. Marisol stood at the edge of the cracked sidewalk, the pendant warm against her chest, the map glowing faintly in her hand. The new symbol pulsed softly. A single word. Origen. Ana leaned over her shoulder. “So… where exactly is ‘origin’? Because I swear, if it’s another creepy building—” Sofía pointed at the map. “It’s not a building. Look.” The symbol wasn’t over any street or landmark. It hovered over the blank space at the northern edge of Tres Robles—where the town ended and the forest began. Tomás exhaled slowly. “The old woods.” Ana groaned. “Of course it’s the woods. Why wouldn’t it be the woods?” Marisol traced the glowing symbol with her thumb. “Mom never to
- Writer
