You make your way back to the abandoned train station at the base of the Rockies. The wind howls louder this time, as if trying to warn you off. But you press forward, boots crunching over the snow-covered platform.

The sign still hangs crookedly:“CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS SINCE 1951. ENTER IF YOU DARE. OR IF YOU’RE HUNGRY”.

You knock.

The freezer door creaks open. Inside, the Keeper of the Ice is exactly where you left him—still reading Canadian Living, still surrounded by frost-covered shelves and the faint scent of gravy.

He looks up. “Back again, eh?”

You nod. “I was wondering if… maybe there’s a Landmark Token in here?”

He raises an eyebrow. “A token? In here? Hah. That’s rich.” He disappears behind a shelf and returns a moment later holding… a spoon. A large, slightly dented, stainless steel serving spoon. He places it on the counter with great ceremony. “This,” he says, “was once used to serve mashed potatoes at a 1974 curling banquet in Moose Jaw. It’s not magical. It’s not rare. But it’s got heft. You want it?”