That night, Mistveil Coffee Farm was anything but quiet.
The wind whispered through the coffee trees in the darkness, but it wasn’t the sound of the wind keeping Pantawan awake.
It was the sound of an engine.
Since early evening, a black SUV had remained parked on the road in front of the farm.
Its headlights were off, but two men still stood beside it.
They were watching the house.
Watching the farm.
And watching everyone here.
Pantawan sat in her grandmother’s room, one hand opening the old journal while the other clutched the brass key.
Phakin sat across from her.
Three things lay on the old wooden table:
The journal.
The map.
And
the brass key.
“We need to find out what this key opens first,” Phakin said quietly.
Pantawan carefully turned the pages of the journal.
Many were written in her grandmother’s handwriting.
Some held notes about the farm.
Some were filled with numbers.
Others had names she didn’t recognize.
But one page made her freeze.
In the center was a symbol shaped like a coffee blossom.
Beneath it were three short letters:
MOG
Pantawan looked up at once.
“Phakin…”
He leaned closer to look.
“This is MOG, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
Phakin didn’t answer.
He picked up the map and spread it across the table.
It was older than she’d expected, its paper yellowed and brittle, nearly torn apart.
A path ran from Mistveil Coffee Farm, across the mountain range behind it, and ended at a spot marked with a circle.
Beside the circle was the same symbol as the one in the journal.
A coffee blossom.
“This spot…”
Phakin touched the map with one finger.
“It’s behind the mountain.”
Pantawan frowned.
“Isn’t there no village there anymore?”
“Not on any current map.”
He paused for a moment.
“But this map is really old.”
Pantawan looked down again.
Suddenly, she noticed something.
In the bottom-right corner of the map, tiny letters had been written in faded ink.
She slowly tilted the paper toward the lamplight.
The words came into focus.
“The door will open when the keeper’s bloodline returns to the land.”
Pantawan went still.
Her heart began to pound for no reason she could explain.
“The keeper…”
She murmured the words.
“Who does that mean?”
Phakin looked at her.
But before he could answer—
Clack!
A sound came from outside.
They both turned at once.
It sounded like a branch snapping.
Then came footsteps crossing the dirt in front of the house.
Phakin hurried to turn off the light.
The room fell into darkness.
Pantawan clutched the journal.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Then—
Knock… knock… knock.
Someone knocked three times.
Pantawan looked at Phakin.
He raised a finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet.
A voice came from the other side of the door.
“Pantawan…”
She recognized it.
It was Uncle Kham’s voice.
Phakin was about to open the door, but Pantawan grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
She pointed at the floor.
Moonlight streaming through the window revealed the shadow of someone standing outside the door.
But…
There was only one shadow.
Pantawan swallowed.
Uncle Kham always walked with a cane.
But the shadow outside had no cane.
And more importantly—
The person’s shoes were pointing in the opposite direction from the way someone standing there should be facing.
Phakin followed her gaze.
His expression changed at once.
“Don’t open it.”
The knocking sounded again.
Knock… knock… knock.
This time, the voice calling her name had changed.
“Pantawan…”
It wasn’t Uncle Kham anymore.
It was—
Grandma Bua.
Pantawan froze.
“That’s impossible…”
She whispered.
The voice outside spoke again.
“Pantawan… open the door for Grandma.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
Because it was the same voice she’d remembered since childhood.
The voice that had called to her on rainy days.
The voice that had comforted her when she was afraid.
The voice of someone who was gone.
Phakin quickly took her hand.
“Don’t believe it.”
“But that’s Grandma’s voice…”
“Whoever’s out there might know more about your grandmother than we think.”
Pantawan tried to steady herself.
She slipped a hand into her pocket.
Her fingertips touched the brass key.
The instant she gripped it—
Click!
The sound of metal striking metal came from beneath the floor.
They both turned toward it.
Phakin slowly walked to the spot in the wooden floor where the sound had come from.
He knelt and tapped the boards with his hand.
Knock… knock…
One spot sounded different from the rest.
Hollow.
“There’s a space under here.”
He carefully pried up a board with the tip of his knife.
A small cavity lay beneath the floor.
Something was hidden inside.
An old wooden box.
Pantawan stared at it, struck by a strange sense of familiarity.
The lid bore a symbol shaped like a coffee blossom.
The same one stamped on the chest.
The same one as the Old Coffee Tree.
And the same one in her grandmother’s journal.
Phakin turned to her.
“The key.”
Pantawan took it out.
Her hand trembled slightly as she slid it into the keyhole.
Click.
The box opened.
There was no gold inside.
No money.
No farm sale documents.
There was only…
An old photograph.
And a white envelope.
Only one name was written on the front.
“Pantawan”
She went still.
“Grandma knew I’d find this box…”
Phakin picked up the photograph.
It showed a man and a woman standing in front of the Old Coffee Tree.
But between them stood a little girl.
Neither of them recognized her.
Pantawan stared at the photograph longer.
Her heartbeat began to stumble.
Because the little girl in the picture…
Was wearing the same necklace she wore now.
Phakin turned to look at her.
“Pantawan…”
She didn’t answer.
Her hands slowly began to shake.
The sounds outside had fallen silent.
But before she could open the letter—
Phakin’s phone began to vibrate.
Brr… brr…
He picked it up.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
“Don’t open your grandmother’s letter.”
Phakin fell silent.
A second message came through immediately.
“If you open it… you’ll find out who made her die.”
Pantawan looked at Phakin.
Silence blanketed the room.
Then she slowly tore open the envelope.
“I have to know,” she said softly.
“No matter how much the truth hurts…”
Pantawan took out the letter.
The first line nearly stopped her from breathing.
“To Pantawan… You are more than just the owner of Mistveil Coffee Farm.”
She kept reading.
And before she could reach the next line—
A gunshot rang out from outside.
Bang!
The entire farm erupted into chaos.
Phakin sprang to his feet.
Pantawan clutched the letter tightly.
And for the first time, she understood—
What they were searching for
might not be the farm’s secret.
It might be a secret about her.
End of Chapter 8