Nona died. In her will, she left Elara a small wooden box with a brass latch. No key. Inside, a single object: a smooth river stone, gray as a winter sky.

Elara was seven the first time she saw a reid wrong.

Three weeks later, the historical society received a letter from a woman in Ohio. Her great-uncle Edmund had disappeared in 1948. He’d been a steelworker. He was never found. Enclosed was a faded photograph: a man in a dark navy overcoat, sharp jaw, tired eyes.