She hesitated, hand hovering above the dusty flakes. Something about it felt… off. Out of place. She sighed and started pulling the hay apart. It was heavier than it looked, clumped and damp in the center. She worked quickly, shaking out her gloves, dust rising around her like smoke.
After several minutes of digging, her knuckles scraped something solid. She froze. Then brushed more hay aside. Wood. A plank—old, weather-worn, with a metal ring bolted into the center. A trap door. Her heart jumped.