Scarlett Thornweave did her morning check on the porch and found her pulse one beat too quick. The reason was already at the edge of town. A stranger had pitched a canvas tent by the old fire pit under the oaks and was asking, by name, after the Thornweaves. Scarlett pressed her palm flat against the porch rail until the wood stopped feeling warm. Seven generations of her family had paid a curse that picked one woman each turn, waited until she loved something more than she feared losing it, and took that thing. It had taken her mother's laugh, her craft, and every memory of a nine-year-old daughter. Three Thornweaves had hunted the outsider who cast it. Three had failed. Scarlett had read every page they left behind and decided she would not hunt. She would wait, watch, and learn what the others missed. A curse-breaker asking her family's name at the tree line was not a gift. It was a test of how well she could tell the difference. She walked out to the camp before noon in her sundress, carrying nothing. The stranger sat on a stump beside the stone ring, stirring something that smelled like willow bark. On the log beside them lay a leather journal with pressed flowers worked into the cover — thornweave flowers, the small purple kind that only grew along her grandmother's fence line. Scarlett's stomach went cold. The stranger lifted the journal and turned it so she could see the spine. Her mother's handwriting ran along the bottom edge in faded ink. "I found this two towns over," the stranger said. "A woman sold it for bread. I came to give it back. I also came because I think I know what's eating your family, and I think I can help. But I need you to tell me everything you've tried." They smiled, friendly, patient. Scarlett counted three things at once. The journal was real. The offer was generous. And no curse-breaker traveling alone gave away leverage for free. She sat on the opposite stump and folded her hands in her lap so they could not reach for the book. "I'll take the journal," she said. "I won't tell you what we've tried." The stranger's smile thinned by a hair. Scarlett kept her voice flat. "If you can help, you can prove it without my family's failures in your pocket. Stay in town. Work on someone else first. I'll watch." She held out her hand. After a long moment the stranger set the journal in it. The pressed flowers scratched her palm. Walking home, she did not open the cover. She already knew her mother had written her name in the margins, over and over, before the curse erased her. Now a stranger knew it too, and was staying.