The moment I saw the pigeon, I knew my life was about to change.

I was walking home from school, kicking at loose gravel, my mind stuck on the latest disaster—Ms. Phillips had assigned a group project. As someone who barely tolerated small talk, the thought of forced collaboration made me want to disappear into the Antarctic.

And then, there it was. A pigeon.

Not just any pigeon, though. This one was wearing a tiny metal canister around its leg, like something out of a spy novel. It cocked its head at me, its feathers a mix of stormy gray and speckled white, and let out a low coo.

“Are you lost?” I muttered, kneeling down. The pigeon fluffed up, as if offended by the question.

Carefully, I reached for its leg, my fingers brushing the cold metal of the canister. I hesitated, then twisted it open. Inside was a tiny piece of parchment, the edges rough and uneven, like it had been torn from something old. The ink was smudged, but I could still make out the words:

Meet me where the air smells of nutmeg.

Weird.

I glanced around, half-expecting someone to jump out and say, “Just kidding! You’ve been punked!” But no one was watching. The pigeon gave me an expectant look, like I was supposed to know exactly what to do next.

And, to be honest, I kind of did.

There was only one place in town that ever smelled like nutmeg—the dusty little spice shop on the corner of Maple and Fifth. Mrs. Patel, the owner, always kept a pot of chai simmering, the scent curling into the street like an unspoken invitation.

I took a deep breath and glanced back at the pigeon. “Alright, fine. Let’s see where this goes.”

—

The bell above the shop door jingled as I stepped inside. The warmth hit me instantly, a mix of cinnamon, clove, and—of course—nutmeg.

Mrs. Patel looked up from behind the counter, her eyes twinkling. “Ah, Destiny. You got my message.”

I blinked. “Wait—your message?”

She smiled, sliding a small wooden box toward me. “Open it.”

Inside, nestled in deep blue velvet, was a key.

“To what?” I asked, my pulse quickening.

She only tilted her head toward the back of the shop. “Why don’t you find out?”

The pigeon, who had somehow followed me inside, let out a victorious coo.

And just like that, my ordinary life cracked open like ice beneath an explorer’s boot.

I had no idea what I was stepping into, but one thing was clear—this was only the beginning.