They hopped off the train as it slowed down near the outskirts of Đà Lạt. The city was beautiful, perched on a hill with French-style villas and colorful flowers. But Maya didn't have time to sightsee.
"The temple is three miles into the forest," Maya said, consulting her grandfather’s encoded journal.
As they hiked, the scent of pine trees filled the air, just as the diary had promised. The ground was slippery with pine needles. Maya felt a strange sense of nostalgia, even though she had never been here before. She felt like her grandfather was walking beside her.
"Wait," Jack said, stopping suddenly. He knelt and pointed at the dirt. There were fresh boot prints—large, heavy ones. "We aren't alone. Someone found the trail before us".
Maya reached into her bag and felt the cold glass lens. "Then we have to get there first!", she said, her voice full of determination.
They began to run, the shadows of the tall trees stretching out like long fingers. Suddenly, the forest opened up to reveal an ancient, stone gate covered in thick vines.
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