On her third morning, while prying a stuck window open, she dislodged a loose brick in the fireplace. Behind it was a small, leather-bound box, no bigger than a deck of cards. Inside, nestled on faded velvet, was a brooch: a silver jade carved into the shape of a sleeping fox, its eyes two tiny garnets. A small note was tucked beneath it, the ink brown with age.

It was a sad ending. But it was also a true one.

"I'm not taking you," she whispered. "You belong here. You brought me home, just like you promised. But I think home is a place you build, not a place you find."

But Whitby had other plans. Or rather, a box did.

It was a promise.

She showed the brooch to Mr. Ellerby, who went pale. "That's the Ashford brooch," he whispered. "Been missing since 1987. Belonged to a girl who lived here. A girl named... Netta. Netta Ashford. She was a foster child. Disappeared one night. They never found her."