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Six inches down, his shovel hit wood. He pulled out a small, weather-sealed box. Inside wasn't money or a secret diary. It was a physical polaroid—an image of the very spot Elias was standing on, but taken in the middle of a freak snowstorm.

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When he finally stood at those exact coordinates, the sun was at the same angle as the photo. He looked down. The brass stake was still there, tarnished by three years of wind. He dug. Six inches down, his shovel hit wood

On the back, his uncle’s handwriting: "Nature changes its clothes, Elias. The world is never the same color twice. Look up." Six inches down