Milo was kneeling by the bakery wall, where the morning sun made the bricks feel warm. He had one hand under a shallow puddle, guiding a tiny paper boat with a blueberry stain on its sail. It had come from the rain gutter, and now it bobbed in a silver stream beside the tilted drain cover. Pip, the skinny gray-and-white alley cat with one crooked ear, watched from a doorstep and flicked his striped tail. He did not care about the boat much, but he did care about the smell of fresh bread drifting from the corner shop.
Milo leaned closer. The boat bumped the drain cover, spun once, and then stopped. It was not stuck. It was waiting. Milo could see something dark beneath the little paper hull, something that glinted like wet glass. Before he could reach for it, the corner bakery bell rang, and Nora came out with her mustard cardigan and her tote bag of folded market cloths. She stopped beside Milo and narrowed her eyes at the stream.
"That is not rain," she said softly. "That water is moving too fast."
Then the glint under the boat shifted, and all three of them saw the same thing at once: a bright bead rolling against the gutter, following the water toward the drain cover as if it knew where it wanted to go.
What happens next?
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