I lift the object in question—a simple forked hazel branch, worn smooth with age but still remarkably well preserved.
— You don’t actually believe that works, do you? she asks, one brow arched in a way that makes me smile.
— After finding a secret passage thanks to a sheep, how could I possibly doubt a divining rod? I shoot back.
She shakes her head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
— Fair point. But I still think Hamish didn’t find that passage by accident.
We spent the entire morning digging through the McGregor archives with no luck before turning to this parcel mentioned in Archibald’s journal. The tension that once crackled between us has softened, replaced by something familiar… something easy. A quiet partnership fueled by curiosity and the thrill of discovery.
I grip the rod the way Archibald described in his notes—branch steady in my palm, the fork pointing straight ahead.
— I feel completely ridiculous, I admit as we start walking slowly across the field.
— You look completely ridiculous, Keira confirms cheerfully. Wait—don’t move. I need to capture this.
— If a single photo of me playing amateur dowser ends up online, I will deny everything and claim it’s a deepfake.
— No AI could recreate that level of pompous seriousness while holding a stick, she fires back, snapping a picture.
Our eyes meet—and we both burst out laughing at the same time. The sound of it—her laughter blending with mine—hits meharder than I expect. I’d almost convinced myself I’d never hear it again.
We keep moving, and I force myself to focus on the rod instead of the woman beside me. It’s harder than it should be. Keira’s dressed simply—jeans, a green sweater, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail—but she’s never looked more beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed from the cool air and the excitement of the hunt, her eyes bright with life.
Then suddenly, I feel it.
A shift. A pull.
The rod trembles in my hands… then dips downward with surprising force.
— Keira! I exclaim. Look!
She steps closer, disbelief written all over her face.
— Are you doing that?
— Absolutely not!
The rod tilts further, stubbornly pointing toward a specific spot on the ground. We exchange a stunned look before dropping to our knees to investigate.
At first glance, there’s nothing—just grass and dirt. But as we push aside the vegetation, something emerges. A stone slab, nearly swallowed by moss and earth.
— That’s impossible, Keira whispers. This thing actually works?
— Apparently, I say, just as stunned. Help me clear it.
We work side by side, ripping away grass and scraping off decades of dirt. Slowly, the slab reveals itself… and at its center, a rusted iron handle comes into view.
— It’s a well, Keira realizes. An old one. Covered up.
— Archibald mentioned a spring in his journal. A source of pure water essential for his whisky.
— You think the other half of the treasure is down there?
I grab the handle and pull. At first, it resists—then gives way with a protesting creak, revealing a dark opening. The scent of damp earth and fresh water drifts up.
— Only one way to find out, I say, pulling out my phone and switching on the flashlight.
