Missy Crawford had spent three weeks hunting the man who charmed and robbed girls across Fern Gully. Now a witness sat at her table, and she was already standing to leave. The young woman twisted her shawl in both hands. Her lip trembled. She would not say his name. She would not say what he took from her. "Please," Missy said. "I only need to know where you met him." The girl shook her head. Her cheeks burned red. "You'll think I'm a fool. Everyone will." She pushed back her chair. "I shouldn't have come." Missy's chest tightened. Four girls before this one had refused to speak. Shame kept them all quiet, and shame let the man keep hunting. If this witness walked out the door, Missy had nothing. She reached for the girl's wrist, then stopped herself. "Wait," Missy said. "I know how he works. He finds a girl who feels unseen. He makes her feel chosen. Then he's gone, and so is her money." She kept her voice steady. "That's not foolish. That's a trap built by a clever man." The girl froze with one hand on the chair. A knock sounded at the door. Missy cursed under her breath. She opened it to a stranger who smelled of woodsmoke and wet earth. Gray streaked his beard. His coat was patched and worn from living outdoors. He held his hat against his chest. "Name's Silas Thornwood," he said. "Folk say you're asking about a certain charmer." Missy stared. She had told almost no one. "Who sent you?" "No one. I've been camping near the old wooden cabin out past the tree line." He nodded east. "The abandoned one. Three nights back I saw a man meet a girl there. Fine coat. Smooth talker. He walked off with her purse and left her crying on the broken steps." Behind Missy, the witness gasped. "That's the place," she whispered. "That's where he took me." Missy turned. The girl had sat back down. "You saw him," the girl said to Silas. Her voice shook, but she did not look away now. "You saw what he did. So I'm not making it up." "No, miss," Silas said. "You're not." Something broke loose in the girl. The words spilled out. The man wore a green silk vest. He had a ring shaped like a wolf's head. He promised to marry her. He took forty dollars and the locket from her mother. She named the hour and the place and the lies. Missy wrote every word. Her hand shook with how fast the girl spoke. When it ended, Missy had her first real trail. A silk vest. A wolf ring. A meeting spot at the old cabin. She looked at Silas, still in her doorway. He had cracked her case open. But she knew nothing about him, or why a man who lived in the woods watched that ruined cabin at night.

Silas Thornwood had cracked her case open. But Missy would not take a drifter at his word. The next morning she walked to the abandoned cabin at the edge of the woods. If Silas truly watched this place, she would learn why. She would find his camp, read his tracks, and judge the man by what he hid. The cabin sagged against the trees. Its porch steps had splintered through. Faded gray boards curled off the walls, and one window gaped with broken glass. Missy climbed the broken steps and pushed the green door. It scraped inward. Dust hung in the gray light. She found his camp inside, behind a wall braced with bold wooden crossbeams. A blanket. A cold fire ring. A tin cup. This was no robber's hideout. It was a poor man's bed. Then she saw the chest in the corner. The chest was old and dust-covered. A small brass padlock held it shut. Missy knelt and pulled. The lock held. Whatever Silas guarded, he guarded it close. "That's mine." Missy spun. Silas filled the doorway, an armload of firewood against his chest. He let the wood drop. The logs clattered on the floor. He did not step toward her. He only looked at the chest, then at her hand on its lid. "You came to search me," he said. His voice stayed flat. "Go on, then. Finish." "I need to know why you watch this place," Missy said. "A man who hides in the woods and spies on a ruined cabin. Tell me the truth, or I walk away from everything you said." Silas crossed the room. He dug a key from his collar and knelt. The padlock snapped open. He lifted the lid. Inside lay a woman's shawl, folded with care. A faded photograph. A stack of letters tied with string. He lifted the photograph and held it out. "My daughter," he said. "She met a man last spring. Green vest. A ring like a wolf's head. He promised to wed her. He took her savings and left her shamed." His jaw tightened. "She drowned herself in the creek a mile from here. I camp by this cabin because he hunts here. I mean to see his face." Missy stared at the photograph. A young woman smiled back, bright and whole. She thought of the witness at her table, twisting her shawl, so close to the same cliff. "Then we want the same man," Missy said. Silas closed the chest. "I've watched three nights more since we spoke. Last night he came back." He met her eyes. "He didn't meet a girl. He pried up a floorboard under this very room and buried something. Then he left." Missy looked down at the dusty boards beneath her knees. Her trail was no longer cold. The charmer kept a cache here, and now she knew where he would return.

Missy dug her nails under the loose floorboard. The plank held fast. She pulled harder. A splinter bit her finger. The wood groaned but would not rise. Whatever the charmer had buried, he had hammered the boards down tight. She sat back on her heels and looked at the gray light in the window. The man might return any hour. If he caught her here, she would lose him for good. Her hands shook. She needed a tool, and she needed it fast. Silas stood in the doorway. He had guarded this cabin for weeks to see the face of the man who ruined his daughter. Now he watched Missy claw at the floor. "You'll break your fingers before you break that board," he said. "Then help me," Missy said. "Or stand there and watch me fail." For a moment he did not move. Then he crossed the room and knelt. He drew a long knife from his belt. He wedged the blade into the seam between two planks and leaned his weight on the handle. The board creaked. A nail pulled loose with a squeal. "Again," Missy said. She grabbed the raised edge and heaved. The plank snapped up. A second followed. Dirt and dust puffed into the air. Beneath the boards lay a shallow hole. Inside sat a small tin box, its lid shut with wire. Missy lifted it out. Her fingers worked the wire free. She opened the lid. Inside lay a woman's locket and a fold of money. Missy knew the locket at once. The witness had described it at her kitchen table. Her mother's locket. Forty dollars, stolen with a false promise of marriage. Silas leaned close. His jaw went hard. "That's his hiding place." His voice dropped. "He'll come back for it." Missy stared at the money. If she took it, the charmer would know someone had found his cache. He would run. She would have the stolen goods but lose the man. She made her choice. She closed the lid and set the box back in the hole. She left everything inside. "What are you doing?" Silas said. "That's hers. Give it back to the girl." "If I take it, he vanishes," Missy said. "He comes back for this. We put the boards down and we wait for him." They pressed the planks into place. Missy tapped the loose nail flat with the knife handle. The floor looked whole again, almost. Then she heard it. Boots on the broken porch steps. Slow. Heavy. Silas froze. Missy's heart slammed. There was no time to run. The box was buried, the trap was set, and the man was at the door.