The morning mist hung low over the ruins of Blackthorn House.
Behind the group, the blackened stone remains stood silent after two centuries. Ahead rose the ancient oak marked on Edward’s map. Its massive trunk had split into two equal halves before joining again at the roots.
Lydia stopped walking. The resemblance to the family symbol was unmistakable. For the first time, she realized the emblem hadn’t been invented. It had been copied from this very tree.
Harriet studied the bark. The carving of the two-trunk symbol was far newer than the tree itself. Someone had returned here repeatedly across generations. This wasn’t simply a landmark. It had been a meeting place. A reminder. Perhaps even the birthplace of the Promise.
Edward’s final instruction echoed in Lydia’s mind: “Search wher
