His eyes wandered to the corner beneath the tree. He pictured Lola—confident and small—waiting patiently in line with her leaf. She must’ve seen students handing over green bills, those fluttering slips of paper, and thought, this is what humans do. So she found her version. Her own green currency.
The thought nearly undid him—but then, it clicked. The leaf. Always the same kind. Same size. Same color. Lola wasn’t just picking any leaf off the ground. She had a source. For the first time in days, Pedro sat up straighter. If he could find the tree—he might find her.