The past is a debt that never stays buried.
Marty Freeman came to Poulsbo to recover — from burnout, from a decade of hospital shifts, from the particular exhaustion of a life spent keeping other people alive. She found instead a Norwegian apothecary town with painted longships on every wall and something old and patient in the hill above the harbor.
When her mentor Silas Thorne vanishes before dawn — kettle cold, hiking boots still by the door, a message hidden in code only she would understand — Marty begins to learn what the locals have always known and never said: the Golden Hill is not just beautiful in autumn. The grove on its north slope is a living archive of everything this community has ever tried to forget. And someone has decided it's time to collect.
A pharmaceutical predator has bought the land above the grove. A rival has spent three years watching from across the street. The town's historian is being slowly poisoned. And beneath the Medicine Shoppe, running through basalt and silver veins a hundred and forty years old, the grove's roots run under everything.
Marty Freeman is a pharmacist. She knows the precise chemistry of what can be lost. She is about to learn what it costs to pay a debt that old.
The grove does not give. It swaps.
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