One rainy afternoon, as thunder rolled in the distance, Claire discovered something strange in the far corner of the barn. She was shifting moldy straw when her gloved hand struck solid wood—unlike the warped planks of the floor. Kneeling, she brushed away more debris to reveal a thick wooden trapdoor, set flush against the boards, with a rusted iron ring bolted at its center. For a moment, she simply stared, her pulse racing.
Had this always been here, hidden and waiting, or had her father added it during those years she was kept away? The barn seemed to grow quieter as she knelt, the world narrowing to just her and the mysterious door. She ran her fingers around the edge, feeling the roughness of the wood, the cold bite of the metal. She wanted to open it right then and there, but something held her back—a sense that the moment wasn’t quite right, that she needed to gather herself first.