It begins with a plan laid out in shadow, a map without clear lines. The first step is often mistaken for the last. Count backward from ten, and you may find clues lost in the ordinary.
Four corners are key, doubling as anchors in the mist of thought. When the sun rises over steel and glass, deviation must be smooth, unnoticed. The destination isn't marked; it whispers in a fleeting breeze.
Coordinates: 73°N, 40°W
This is not a place but a state of mind, wrapped in symbolism. Look closer, the answers lurk where you least expect them.