The mason jar in Serena's hand suddenly felt heavy. She understood: she hadn't come to capture anything. She'd come to offer.

"Who are you?" Serena whispered.

The old map in Serena Hill’s attic was a lie. It showed a dead end—a faded dotted line stopping at the edge of town. But Serena knew better. The juniper tree in her backyard had a hollow knot that hummed at dusk, and if you pressed your ear to it, you could hear the whisper of a place that wasn't on any map.

Serena walked back through the root-tunnel, stepped out of the juniper tree, and shut the knot behind her. In her pocket, the berry pulsed like a tiny green heart.

The tree swung open.