“Hold on,” I say, not to be rude, but because I feel like the message is at the edge of my thoughts. I just need a moment to pluck it out. “Time capsules preserve memories, personal items that have meanings within specific time frames. And this trip was a celebration. We made our own tent. Dad taught me his favorite sword trick….Oh my god, Aunt Jo taught me how to camouflage my camping gear so that it blended with the woods.” I look at Ash, the memories flooding back. “I thought it was the coolest thing at the time. And when I came home, I decided to make a time capsule of my own, a smaller version of these picture collages, in order to commemorate my year. I talked about it for a month.” My voice is faster and more animated. “But I didn’t want to bury it like the time capsule at school where it would eventually decay. Instead, I decided to use what Aunt Jo taught me about camouflage. Dad helped me pick out the tree to hide it in.”

“And this tree is on your property?” he asks, and I can see the relief in his eyes that we’re making progress.

“About a five-minute walk into the woods from the edge of my backyard,” I say, and grab my coat off my bed.

“Wait,” Ash says.

“Wait for what?” I say. “We need to go find out what’s in that tree. Because if I’m wrong, then we need to start looking elsewhere.”

“Agreed. But not this moment. Look out your window. We’re about to lose the light—” Ash starts.

“I can get to the tree before we do, though,” I counter.

“Of course you can if you waltz right out there. But what if there’s a Lion in those woods waiting for you to emerge in order to attack you? Or maybe waiting for you to find the message from your dad and then attack you?” he says. “Do you really want to fight a well-trained assassin in the woods with no light?”

I want to argue with him. I need to know what my dad’s message says. But fighting a Strategia sounds awful under any circumstances, much less in the dark. “When are you suggesting we go out there?”

“Just moments before sunrise. We can move across the yard in the dark, and if we’re lucky no one will be there. But if we’re not and we need to fight, the coming sunrise will at least allow us to see.”

I exhale audibly and drop my coat back on my bed. I hate that he’s right about this, and as much as I don’t want to, I agree—getting that message and finding my dad are more important than rushing. “Fine. I concede. But then we leave with no delay.”