Ryan woke to find Mira standing by the window.
The morning light filtered through the glass, casting long shadows across the cottage floor. But Mira's shadow was wrong—it was too long, too thin, reaching across the room like a finger pointing at something unseen.
"Mira?" Ryan sat up. "What are you doing?"
She didn't turn. "I'm watching."
"Watching what?"
"The door. It moved last night."
Ryan crossed the room and stood beside her. The silver door in the garden was still there, still closed, still pulsing with soft light.
"It's not moving now."
"It was. At midnight. The echoes were calling to me."
Ryan looked at his daughter. Her silver eyes were distant, focused on something he couldn't see.
"What did they want?"
"They wanted to show me something. A door I didn't know existed."
