We pushed on through the thick undergrowth, our boots snagging on roots and thorny stems. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and fading leaves. Yellowing fragments drifted down through slanted shafts of light, spinning lazily before coming to rest on the forest floor. It felt as though the whole wood was holding its breath, caught in that fragile moment between autumn and decay.

Somewhere ahead, I could hear water—the soft, broken whisper of a river working its way through stone. The sound grew clearer as we forced a path through brambles that had long since claimed the trail. No one had walked this way for months, maybe years. The place had the hushed, untouched stillness of a forgotten chapel. I hadn’t been here since I was thirteen. Back then, this was my hideout—my escape from the constant sneers and whispers, a pocket of calm the world couldn’t reach.

A tangle of branches parted, and I stepped through, emerging into a wash of golden light. The river lay before me, quiet and glimmering. For a moment, I just stood there, breathing it in. The air shimmered faintly with the hum of insects; a few late dragonflies skimmed across the surface, their wings flashing bronze and blue. Every so often, a fish snapped at an unlucky fly, leaving ripples that caught the sunlight like silver rings. Moss clung thickly to smooth rocks, glistening where the water lapped them. Above, the trees still burned in a riot of colour—gold, russet, deep green. It was nature’s last rebellion before surrender. The air smelled faintly of moss and something older: the sweetness of things turning to earth.

The river murmured softly, a low, steady undertone to the forest’s silence. A bird called out suddenly, startling me back into the moment.

“Wow,” said Steve behind me, breaking through the thicket. “You were right. This is the place.”

Mai followed, brushing leaves from her dark hair, holding the branches back so Alison could come through without getting scratched. Always thoughtful, always tidy, even in the wilderness.

“Are you sure?” Alison asked, looking doubtful.

“Positive.” Steve was already pulling out his beloved iPhone, showing us the photo he’d taken in the classroom. “See? It’s identical.”

“Except for the shaft of light,” Alison murmured.

As if the forest had been listening, the light changed. A single ray broke through the canopy, spilling molten gold across the river. The surface flared, dazzling, while the surrounding trees stood still as witnesses. It felt for a second like something holy—a sign, or a message. Almost as though the angel Ali had seen at the stone circle was back, guiding us again.

“That’s creepy,” Mai whispered.

Steve just stared, his grin faltering.

“So,” Mai said briskly, shaking it off, “we’re here. Where’s the clue?”

“Could be anywhere,” Steve said, scanning the riverbank. “The photo doesn’t show much.”

“Maybe it’s connected to the light,” I suggested.

Steve frowned. “And how were they supposed to know the sun would hit that exact spot today?”

“Divine intervention?” Ali said quietly.

No one laughed. When Ali spoke like that, you listened. After all, she was the one who’d seen the angel.

“So,” Mai said, “if the light’s the guide, maybe it’s somewhere in the river.”

“Wait,” Steve protested. “You don’t actually believe this, do you?”

“The light will guide us,” Mai said, quoting the motto that hung on the Mystery Club noticeboard.

I stepped forward, peering at the place where sunlight struck the shallows. “Won’t be far out,” I said. “Look where it lands.”

The water was icy when I waded in, numbing my legs almost instantly. Beneath the surface, the pebbles were smooth and cool, rounded by centuries of current. I crouched and began shifting them aside, the water distorting my hands into wavering shapes.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Mai asked, joining me in the river.

“No idea,” I said. “Something hidden. We’ll know when we find it.”

Steve sighed, slipped his phone into his pocket, and stepped in. Soon we were all searching, the sound of splashing and moving stones echoing around the clearing. The sun warmed our backs, while the river leeched the heat from our hands.

Then Ali’s voice cut through. “Hey! This one’s weird.”

We turned. She was holding a flat grey pebble, its surface marked with a single white letter: L.

“Just one?” I asked. “There must be more.”

“Another here!” Mai called. “Letter O—or maybe a zero.”

“L, O…” Steve grinned. “Someone’s saying hello.”

“Another one!” Mai shouted again, laughing. “Another O!”

“Loo,” Steve said, smirking.

“No toilet jokes, please,” Mai snapped.

I bent down and picked up another pebble, heavier than the rest. On it was a white W. “Got one! W this time.”

Mai frowned. “L, O, O, W… Wool?”

“There could be more,” Steve said, enthusiasm rekindled. “Keep looking.”

For a while we searched in silence, turning over every pebble in reach. But the river offered no more. The sunlight had begun to fade now, sliding off the water and back into shadow.

Ali had climbed onto the bank. She sat cross-legged, turning one of the marked stones in her hand.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I think that’s it,” she said softly.

“Why?”

“Just a feeling.” She looked up, her expression unreadable. “I think the word’s wool.”

Mai waded out, dripping and thoughtful. “You’re sure?”

Ali nodded.

“So we’ve got wool and loopholes,” Mai said. “Doesn’t make much sense. Maybe we’ll get another clue at Mystery Club on Wednesday.”

Steve stayed where he was, still scanning the riverbed, as though unwilling to admit defeat. But Ali just sat quietly, her gaze following the current as it wound away into the trees.

The last light slipped through the leaves, glinting on the water before vanishing. The forest exhaled again, soft and cool. Whatever this place had to tell us, it wasn’t finished yet.