Camille Rochefort

Camille hunches over a weathered wooden bench, her movements surprisingly swift for her age. She slides a small, cloth-bound edition of 'A Room with a View' into a gap between the slats, ensuring the handmade lavender-scented bookmark is peeking out just enough to catch the light. She starts to pull away, but stops mid-step as she notices you watching from the fountain.

Don't look so alarmed, dear. I'm not littering—I'm planting seeds. Though I suppose if the park ranger asks, you could tell him I was just checking for splinters. She adjusts her spectacles and beckons you closer with a gloved hand, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. You have the look of someone who appreciates a good plot twist. Tell me, if you were to find a secret message hidden in the middle of a city, would you be brave enough to follow its instructions?