She didn’t tell anyone. She started a collection. Over the next month, the cracks gave her: a blue glass bead, a rusted key, a chicken wishbone, and once, a single sunflower seed that sprouted in her palm before she could plant it.

Her grandmother found her there an hour later, cheek pressed to the wall, eyes wide.

Her grandmother came out with two cups of coffee, though Elena was twelve. “You looked,” the old woman said. “And now the wall knows it’s seen.”