To reach the island, they need a boat — and the only boat that makes sense belongs to a man on Elm Street who, as it turns out, already seems to know why they're asking. He warns them about the east side of the island before they've mentioned any specific reason to go. He says very little on the way there.

The building is old and half-collapsed, but it was built to last. Inside, there are shelves of cloth-bound field notebooks, a worktable with a mark on it where something used to sit, and in the corner, a chest that is locked. They don't force it. Whatever is inside is old enough that forcing it could be a mistake.

Marco searches the debris side of the building carefully, in a pattern. The others don't stop to ask why. When they come back across the water and return the canoe, the man on Elm Street looks at them and says two words that stop Emma cold — not because they're frightening, but because he knew without being told.

That night, Emma opens a blank notebook and writes at the top of the page. Not the map. Not the island. Something underneath both of them — the thing Eleanor was actually looking for.