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(soft, trying to stay calm) “M, that’s… that’s just a piece of paper, right? Mom’s never talked about any treasure. You know she’s got a shift at the bakery tomorrow. We can’t… we can’t be out here after dark.”

The edge of the old willow grove, just after sunset. Fireflies flicker, and a faint breeze rustles the hanging branches. A small, hand‑drawn map lies crumpled in Marcela’s palm. casting marcela 13y ethel 15y better verified