Hidden among rocks and thick vines was a stone entrance carefully shaped into the hillside, with a wooden door darkened by age. It did not look abandoned. It looked intentional.
Thomas approached cautiously and knocked. The sound echoed hollowly, suggesting space beyond. No one answered. He noticed a flat stone nearby and lifted it, revealing an old key.
“This feels wrong,” Helen murmured, gripping his arm.
“Sleeping outside feels worse,” Thomas replied softly.
The door opened with a long creak, releasing cool air scented with earth and something warm and familiar. Inside, they found not a cave, but a home.
There was a sturdy table, clean chairs with folded blankets, shelves lined with jars, and a small kitchen with a well maintained stove. Two plates rested on the table, as if waiting.
Helen covered her mouth. “Someone lives here.”
Thomas lit a lantern and noticed a letter placed carefully at the center of the table.
“For my children,” it read.
