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My pulse jumps. “There is the same rule again. An open curve with moving water.”

Theo’s hand squeezes the back of my neck.

Marcy’s expression softens. “I’ll keep looking. If there are more Vines records, they’re probably hiding under folklore, florals, or festival planning.”

“Thank you, Marcy.”

My phone buzzes again.

Ezra: That curve matches the spring photo within a few degrees. Also, your Vines person had strong opinions and bad pencil pressure. I respect her.

A laugh slips out of me, wet around the edges.

Theo kisses the top of my head.

I photograph the note, then the full page, then the surrounding folder. In the next box, Theo finds an installation map from the old Love Stone exhibit. The case faced west before the renovation decades ago. On the map, a tiny open curve mark sits beside the display arrow.

“West,” Theo says. “Not east.”

“Toward the old water line,” I say, pulling up the historical flood overlay on my phone. My pulse speeds. “Before the channel shifted, west from here pointed toward the spring system.”

Another text from Ezra appears with an image attachment.

Ezra: Found something in my old dock photos. Zoom in on the railing.

The photo opens slowly on museum Wi-Fi.

When it loads, my breath leaves me. It’s Theo and Ezra’s dock, years ago, before fresh repairs. The photo shows a dark waterline and a cypress root near the bank. Half-hidden on the wood beneath the rail is the same open curve, faint enough to pass for wear.

My stomach dips. Ezra changes near moving water, around old route marks, and near the stone. If the same open curve has been under their dock for years, then the house sits on or beside the same route system. Is the house part of why he is fading?

Ezra sends another message.

Ezra: I don’t think the house was near the route by accident.

Theo reads over my shoulder.

Everything in him shifts, almost like he shuts down. He stays put, but his hand flexes once on my shoulder. I cover his fingers with mine.

“Fear doesn’t get the final say,” I whisper.

His breath moves through him hard. “I still hate it.”

“Me too.” The words are out before I can stop them.

Theo’s eyes lift to mine. His mouth softens despite everything. “If no one has said it to you lately, you’re brave, Pepper Vines.”

My phone buzzes again, and Theo looks away. That’s good because I just choked on my whole heart.

Ezra: I’m fine. Before either of you sprint home. I’m smug, hydrated, and making overlays.

Theo presses his forehead briefly to my temple.

I look at the museum sketch, the Vines note, the Love Stone curve, and Ezra’s dock photo waiting on my screen.

All morning, I thought we were searching for the town’s missing language. I didn’t understand that part of it belonged to my family, or that somewhere in these mislabeled boxes was a woman of science ahead of her time. Now Jessamine Vines sits in my chest like a name I should have known already, an omega who bloomed late, watched the water, and left practical warnings in the margins for anyone willing to believe her.

Sweetheart Haven called it ornamental because that was easier, but the old marks were never decorative. They were instructions the town forgot how to read. Maybe discovering the meaning of those lost instructions will be the key to helping Ezra.