The Gray Siblings and the Missing Switchback

The Gray Siblings and the Missing Switchback

Scarlett Gray liked problems that could be fixed with heat and patience.

Bread that wouldn’t rise.
A pie crust cracking at the edges.
Chocolate that seized instead of melted.

Mysteries, however, were usually Phoenix’s department.

“Tell me again,” Phoenix said, crouching beside the trail sign, “why the switchback just… disappeared?”

Scarlett shifted her backpack higher on her shoulders and squinted down the narrow forest path. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, dappling the ground in gold and shadow. “Because,” she said slowly, “trails don’t vanish unless someone makes them.”

Phoenix grinned. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

They stood at the edge of what should have been the Ridge Loop Trail, a well-marked route used by hikers, climbers, and campers for decades. But the familiar turn—sharp left, then a gradual climb toward the rock face—was gone. In its place: a rough barricade of fallen branches, freshly cut, stacked just neatly enough to be suspicious.

Scarlett knelt, brushing pine needles aside. “These cuts are clean. Someone used a saw.”

“And look,” Phoenix added, pointing uphill. “Footprints. Adult-sized. Heavy boots.”

Scarlett frowned. “Why block the trail?”

Phoenix’s eyes drifted toward the cliffs rising beyond the trees. Granite walls caught the light, streaked with rust and moss. “Because,” he said, “someone doesn’t want people going up there.”

Scarlett felt a familiar flutter in her chest—the kind that came right before something interesting happened. Fear tried to creep in, but curiosity stepped neatly in front of it.

They weren’t supposed to be here alone. Technically. Their climbing group had gone ahead to scout a different route, leaving Scarlett and Phoenix to check signage for the younger kids who’d be joining tomorrow.

Which meant no adults.
And no one to tell them to turn back.

Scarlett reached into her pack and pulled out a small tin wrapped in a cloth napkin. “Blueberry oat bars,” she said. “I baked them this morning.”

Phoenix accepted one without question. “Fuel for thinking?”

“Fuel for bravery,” Scarlett corrected.

They ate in silence, listening to the forest settle around them. Somewhere, a bird startled into flight. Farther off, the wind brushed the cliff face with a low sigh.

Phoenix stood. “Okay. Possibilities.”

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Already in detective mode?”

“Always.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “One: vandalism. Two: someone hiding something. Three: someone protecting something.”

Scarlett glanced again at the blocked trail. “Protecting things usually comes with warning signs. This feels… secretive.”

Phoenix’s grin faded. “Yeah. That’s what bothers me.”

They followed the footprints—not up the blocked trail, but sideways, where the forest thinned and the ground sloped toward a lesser-used climbers’ access point. Scarlett moved carefully, noting snapped twigs, disturbed soil, a scrap of orange survey tape tied too high to be official.

Then she stopped.

“Phoenix,” she whispered.

He turned. “What?”

She pointed. Half-buried beneath leaves was a metal marker—one she recognized from park maps and trail guides. It should have been bolted into stone, labeling the switchback entrance.

Instead, it had been pried loose.

Phoenix let out a slow breath. “Someone didn’t just block the trail. They erased it.”

Scarlett felt the weight of that settle in her stomach—not fear exactly, but responsibility.

“People could get hurt,” she said quietly. “If climbers think this route is closed, they’ll try riskier paths.”

Phoenix nodded. “Which means we can’t ignore it.”

They looked at each other then—the same unspoken agreement they’d shared since they were little. The kind that didn’t need permission.

Scarlett squared her shoulders. “We document. Photos. Locations. Then we tell the adults.”

Phoenix smiled. “And?”

“And,” she added, “we figure out why before someone else gets blamed for it.”

The forest seemed to listen as they stepped forward, the mystery opening like a trail that refused to stay hidden.

Above them, the cliffs waited—silent, watchful, and holding secrets older than either of them knew.

And Scarlett Gray, baker of steady hands and Phoenix Gray, seeker of patterns, had just found their next case.

---