We make our way carefully to the river, following it downstream to where Richard spotted the second cairn. In the morning light, it’s clearly visible—a carefully arranged stack of stones, partially submerged in the flowing water. The small wolf mark is etched into the topmost stone, pointing not downstream as we expected, but across the river toward a densely forested hillside.
“There,” Richard whispers, astonishment in his voice. “That’s where we need to go.”
We cross at a shallow point, the cold water seeping into our boots. The opposite bank rises steeply, covered in thick underbrush and towering pines. At first glance, there’s nothing remarkable about it—just another wooded hillside in a forest full of them.
But as we follow the direction indicated by the wolf mark, I begin to notice subtle signs of human intervention—stones tooperfectly placed to be natural, trees growing in patterns that create a nearly invisible pathway through the underbrush.
“Thomas Wolf was a genius,” Richard murmurs as we climb. “He used the natural landscape to hide his trail, knowing that over time, nature would take over.”
After about twenty minutes of climbing, the terrain levels off, revealing a small plateau nestled between two rocky outcroppings. And there, partially hidden by vegetation, is another cairn—larger than the previous ones, with the wolf symbol prominently displayed on its face.
“It’s pointing that way,” Lana says, indicating the larger of the two rock formations.
We approach cautiously, examining the rocky surface for any sign of an entrance or passage. At first, I see nothing but solid stone and clinging moss. But then Julia calls out from several yards away.
“Guys! Over here!”
We join her at what appears to be a narrow crevice in the rock face, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through.
“This isn’t natural,” Richard says, running his hand along the edge of the opening. “Look how clean the cut is—this was deliberately created.”
“Should we go in?” Julia asks, already pulling out her flashlight.
I hesitate, assessing the stability of the surrounding rock. “I’ll go first. Hawk, you bring up the rear. Everyone else stay between us.”
The passage is tight but navigable. I lead the way, my flashlight illuminating a narrow corridor that penetrates deeper into the hillside. After about twenty feet, the passage widens abruptly, opening into what can only be described as a cave.
My light sweeps across the space, revealing a roughly circular chamber about thirty feet in diameter. The floor is surprisingly level, the walls showing signs of both natural formation and human modification. But at first glance, there’s nothing here—no gold, no documents, nothing to indicate this was Thomas Wolf’s secret hiding place.
“All this way for an empty cave?” Julia says, disappointment evident in her voice as she starts taking pictures.
“There has to be more,” Richard insists, moving around the perimeter, examining every inch of the rock wall. “He wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for nothing.”
Lana joins him, her flashlight beam crisscrossing with his as they search. I watch her work, admiring her determination despite our setbacks. Her pink hair glows almost magically in the flashlight beams, creating an otherworldly effect in the dim cave.
“Look for the wolf mark,” I suggest, running my own light along the ceiling. “It’s led us this far.”
For several minutes, we search in near silence, the only sounds our breathing and the occasional drip of water from somewhere deep in the rock. Just as frustration begins to set in, I hear Lana gasp.
“Here!” she exclaims, kneeling in the far corner of the chamber. “It’s not on the walls—it’s on the floor!”
We crowd around her, and sure enough, partially hidden beneath years of silt and dust, is another wolf marking etched into the stone floor. But this one is different—more detailed, with the wolf’s head turned to face directly upward.
“It’s pointing to the ceiling,” Julia observes, directing her light where the wolf’s gaze would fall.
What looked like natural rock formations from our initial scan now reveals itself as something entirely different. Above us is a carefully disguised trapdoor, built to blend perfectly with the surrounding stone.
“Ingenious,” Richard breathes. “A false chamber to deter casual explorers.”
“Can we open it?” Julia asks, already looking for a way to reach the ceiling, which is about ten feet above us.
“Here,” I say, spotting a series of small footholds cut into one wall, nearly invisible unless you’re looking for them. “This is how Wolf accessed it.”
I test the first foothold and find it solid despite its age. Carefully, I climb the wall, reaching the ceiling where the trapdoor should be. Hanging onto a ledge cut near the ceiling, I see the seam up close, a hairline crack forming a perfect square about three feet across.
“There’s no obvious handle or mechanism,” I call down to the others. “But there’s definitely something here.”
“Try pressing the center,” Richard suggests. “Wolf’s journals mentioned mechanisms that responded to direct pressure.”
