Tonight, the Time Traveler’s Archive opens to a vast, quiet sky above a small cattle town in the Wyoming Territory, autumn 1875. You step through the blue portal onto an unpaved main street lined with wooden storefronts, where oil lamps glow in windows and the cold air carries the sharp, resinous scent of sagebrush. A retired trail cook named Hank Calloway welcomes you into his eating house with coffee so strong a horseshoe wouldn’t sink in it, sourdough biscuits from a Dutch oven, and a question he’s never asked anyone before — because until tonight, no one else could see what he sees. Woven through the stars above this town, faint trails of light trace every journey ever made across this land: the thick braided paths of cattle drives, the thin wandering threads of lone riders, the wide pale bands of wagon trains long since arrived. Most trails fade as journeys are completed. But one trail, thirty years old, still burns bright — ending directly above the town’s main street, above a ring of river stones hidden beneath the general store floor. Through a leather journal preserved in oilcloth since 1845, you and Hank will uncover the story of a woman named Eleanor Pace, who walked from Missouri to build a shelter of stacked stones so that strangers crossing this enormous land could stop and rest. She finished the shelter. She never saw anyone use it. Tonight, the sky is still waiting for someone to tell her that her journey was completed — not by her, but by every building, every neighbor, every life that grew up around the foundation she laid. As you settle into the warmth of a wool blanket by the stove, the bright trail dims at last, and your own trail — the newest thread in a sky full of ten thousand journeys — begins to glow softly among the stars.