I still remember the weight of that locket in my palm, colder than the air, heavier than metal should feel. Its symbols seemed to shift if I stared too long, like they were trying to rearrange themselves into a language I once knew and had somehow forgotten. The parchment’s warning kept echoing in my head: the truth is not safe, the truth is not gentle. I realized this wasn’t an invitation; it was a test.

In the days after, the world felt slightly misaligned. Lights flickered when I traced the symbols. My phone glitched whenever I tried to photograph the locket. Deer tracks appeared in the mud outside my window, then vanished before dawn. Every trail I followed in the archives circled back to the same whispered name: The Veil. A boundary, a secret, a promise. I don’t know what waits beyond it yet. But the signs keep appearing—and I’m still following.