What is inside the envelope? Büşra opens the envelope carefully, as if the paper might crumble under her fingers. Inside is a small, hand-drawn map, old, faded, but still readable. Everyone leans in at once. The map shows the city, but not one they recognize. Some of the streets don't exist on any modern map, as though they had simply vanished over the years.
In one corner, a small mark shows an exact location. Where is this? Nil asks, already taking a photo of it with her phone. Elif studies the map closely. The old bazaar, she says slowly. I thought that whole section had been torn down long ago.
It wasn't torn down, says a voice from the doorway. No one has noticed Ahmet Bey arrive. He walks in, holding his own cup of coffee, as calm as ever. It was only forgotten. The abandoned shops are still standing there. Together, they walk to the old bazaar.
The streets are narrow, the stones worn smooth by decades of footsteps. When they reach the marked location, they find a dusty shopfront, an old photography studio. Its sign is barely legible anymore. The door isn't locked, so they step inside. Dust covers everything. Old cameras sit on the shelves, and faded black-and-white photographs hang crookedly on the walls.
Nail notices a large mirror on the far wall. Even beneath the dust, it seems to shine. Sunlight from the window falls directly onto its surface. Look, Nil says, her voice rising with excitement. The light is hitting the mirror at exactly the right angle. As if it's supposed to.
As the sun climbs higher, the light reflects off the mirror and lands on a spot on the wall. It reveals the faint outline of a hidden door, one that would have been impossible to notice otherwise. Elif catches her breath. A secret door. Ahmet Bey steps closer and runs his fingers along the outline. This must only be visible when the sun hits it from this exact angle, he murmurs.
A few minutes a day, if that. Nail finds the door but can't open it. A small iron lock, rusted but sturdy, holds it shut. We need a key, Büşra says. Ahmet Bey leans in, examining the lock, his eyes narrowing. I recognize this, he says slowly.
This exact model is the same lock used on the clock tower. The room goes still. Everyone exchanges glances, the same thought passing through all their minds at once. So, Lena says quietly, we have to go back to the tower. Where is the key to the clock tower hidden? And what has been waiting inside, undiscovered, for forty years?