At dawn, he returned with renewed determination. The garden stretched before him like a battlefield. He measured steps carefully, realigning his map. The new point fell near a broken sundial, half-buried in weeds. Andrew jammed his spade into the ground, hope and dread clashing in every movement.
Again, the earth resisted. Hours passed with no glint of metal, no creak of wood. Andrew cursed, sweat dripping into his eyes. He feared he had miscalculated once more. Yet even as exhaustion set in, something inside whispered: keep digging. The garden still had secrets, and Henry wanted to find them.