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That gets me moving.

Scarlet waits at the back research table of Heritage Hall with Marcy, three pairs of gloves, and one narrow archival box labeled Festival Florals, Flood Year Addendum. Her red hair is braided over one shoulder, and her expression says she already hates this box on my behalf.

“Before you ask,” she says, “I didn’t open the stuck pages.”

I settle into the chair across from her with the determined focus of a woman on a mission to find what the charity-ground lilies actually mark. “I wouldn’t have had the restraint.” I set my notebook beside the box, my entire body thrumming with curiosity and anticipation.

Marcy nudges the box toward me. “The charity ground lilies are listed in three places. Festival florals, remembrance walk materials, and east route decorations. The handwriting on this tab might be Vines’s.”

My pulse jumps. The tab is small, cream-colored, and written in faded brown ink.

Charity Ground Lilies. Not for display. Route use only. J.V.

I pull my notebook closer.

Scarlet leans in, voice lower. “My grandmother’s notes kept separating protection points from release routes. Protection points were places to shelter or hold steady during danger. Release routes were different.”

“How different?” I ask. “Does your grandma say what they’re used for?”

“They were exits,” Scarlet says. “Not from love. From force. From a bond, spell, drug, or pressure that wouldn’t let someone choose clearly.”

My skin prickles. I write: release = exit from force, not rejection of love.

Scarlet taps the tab with one gloved finger. “The town turned everything into everlasting romance. Hold forever. Stay forever. Love proves itself by never letting go.”

“But your grandmother kept saying release was important,” I say.

“She believed the old story got flipped. Protection was supposed to be temporary. Release was supposed to restore choice.”

Marcy carefully lifts a loose index page. “This one says lilies were gathered for the charity ground before the east-side remembrance walk. Then someone crossed out ‘decoration’ and wrote ‘placement.’”

The word hits like a bell. It’s what Ezra and I have been toying with, and this helps prove we’re on the right track.

My pencil digs into the page. “So the lily wasn’t only symbolic.”

Scarlet’s eyes meet mine. “It marked where something ended or turned.”

I think of Theo’s dock rubbing. The three water lines. The curve. The old graves. Ezra’s body changing near water, marks, and touch.

“Then the flower is definitely a label,” I say. “A route label.”

Scarlet nods once. “That’s what I think.”

Marcy turns the page with the tip of her gloved finger. “There’s one more entry beside the east route decorations.”

Scarlet and I lean in at the same time.

The ink is lighter here, written in a different hand beneath Jessamine’s tab.

Ledger removed from festival storage after flood damage. Returned to keeper cabinet with route florals cross-index. See dock receipt.

My pulse kicks. “Dock receipt?”

Marcy shakes her head. “I haven’t found it. But if it was a receipt, it may not be in the festival box. It could be in town commerce records, boat deliveries, old donation logs, or with the Sweet Tooth anniversary materials. The bakery used to collect festival orders before Heritage Hall had proper storage.”

Scarlet’s mouth tightens in recognition. “My grandmother said the town hid important things inside ordinary paperwork because nobody questioned bills.”

I write fast. Missing ledger moved. Keeper cabinet. Route florals cross-index. Dock receipt. Sweet Tooth?