We kept chatting.

  I clung to ordinary things, to small talk — as if speaking about them might keep the world from collapsing completely.

  "How's Bridget's ear?" I asked, bending down toward the dog.

  Jo-Jo smiled at once.

  "Perfect," he said confidently. "All healed. The vet said she's as good as new."

  He lifted Bridget into his arms and kissed her forehead. She huffed contentedly and settled against his shoulder. Lia laughed. Everything looked so... warm.

  We kept talking — about nothing important. The drive. The weather.

  Alexander still hadn't returned.

  Neither had Phil.

  I glanced toward the living room. The stripes hadn't disappeared. They were faint, thin — like static rippling across an old television screen — but they were unsettling. My eyes kept catching on them even when I tried not to look. The space itself felt... unstable. As if it were trembling.

  "They're taking a while," I finally said, keeping my voice steady.

  "Phil probably fell asleep again," Jo-Jo waved it off. "You know him."

  I nodded. But the unease wouldn't let go.

  And then he appeared.

  Alexander stepped into the kitchen almost silently, though the door creaked. He was smiling — too wide, too deliberate. The smile looked like a mask put on in a hurry.

  "There you are," he said brightly.

  I felt it immediately — something was wrong.

  "Where's Phil?" Lia asked.

  "Everything's fine," Alexander answered quickly. "Absolutely. We just... need a little help."

  He looked straight at me.

  "Molly, can you come with me for a minute?"

  I hesitated.

  "Me?"

  "Yes," he said gently — but there was something in his tone that left no room for refusal. "We'll be right back. Sorry for the slight delay."

  Jo-Jo frowned.

  "Everything okay?"

  "Of course." Alexander smiled again. Too cheerful. "Make yourselves comfortable. Feel at home."

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  He held out his hand.

  I placed mine in his — and flinched.

  His palm was ice-cold.

  He squeezed my fingers harder than necessary and quickly led me out of the kitchen. The light stayed behind. We stepped into the part of the house where it grew quieter, darker — and the stripes on the walls seemed to thicken.

  "Alexander..." I whispered.

  He didn't answer.

  We went deeper into the house.

  Then it became completely dark. So dark it felt like my eyes had stopped existing. I blinked, but it made no difference — the blackness was absolute.

  Alexander stopped.

  I felt him take my other hand. His fingers weren't just cold — they were freezing, as if he had just come in from the snow and hadn't had time to warm up.

  I heard his breathing — uneven, too fast.

  "Molly..." he said.

  His voice was quiet. Very quiet. And there was no mask in it now. No forced brightness. Only raw, unshielded fear.

  "We have unforeseen circumstances."

  I tightened my grip on his hands.

  "What?" I whispered.

  He paused. Briefly. As if gathering the strength to say something that couldn't be unsaid.

  "Phil..." he said. "Phil just went into labor."

  The words hung in the dark.

  I didn't understand them at first. They didn't form a sentence — they just existed, each carrying its own weight.

  "Into... labor?" I repeated stupidly.

  "Yes," Alexander said almost inaudibly. "Right now."

  Cold spread through my shoulders, my back, the base of my skull. My heart slammed once — hard, hollow.

  "But..." I swallowed. "It's... early, isn't it?"

  He tightened his grip.

  "Very early," he said. "Which means we can't waste a second."

  Something in the darkness shifted. As if the space around us had tensed, listening.

  "Listen to me carefully," he continued. "Whatever is happening right now cannot be shown to Jo-Jo and Lia. They must not know. Please — make something up. We need them to leave the house. I have to go there immediately. Can you handle it?"

  I faltered.

  "I... I don't know what to say," I admitted. "It's Christmas..."

  "I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry. But we don't have a choice."

  He led me back just as swiftly as he had taken me away.

  The light hit my eyes sharply, almost painfully. The kitchen looked too bright, too ordinary — like a stage set stubbornly pretending everything was fine.

  And the next second, his hand was gone.

  Alexander vanished.

  Without a sound. Without a word. Without a trace — except for the cold still lingering on my skin.

  I took a deep breath.

  Think, Molly. Think.

  I stepped into the kitchen.

  "Oh!" Jo-Jo said. "Finally. Where'd you disappear to?"

  I forced a smile. Wider. Slightly awkward. The kind people use when they're about to say something unpleasant but pretend everything is fine.

  "Listen..." I began — and immediately felt my voice tremble. I cleared my throat. "I have... urgent news."

  Lia straightened at once.

  "What happened?"

  Now. Do it.

  "Phil..." I paused. "Phil isn't feeling well. Not critical!" I added quickly. "But he's exhausted. He needs to lie down. Right now. Doctors..." I waved a hand vaguely. "You know Phil and his strange health situations."

  It was a half-truth.

  The most dangerous kind.

  "So?" Jo-Jo frowned. "We can help."

  "That's exactly what you can't do," I said quickly.

  Silence fell.

  Lia looked at Jo-Jo. Then at me.

  "Are you sure?" she asked gently. "You look pale."

  I opened my mouth to invent something else. Anything. Mundane. Harmless. Saving.

  But I didn't get the chance.

  First came the sound.

  It wasn't a doorbell. Not an alarm. Not music. It was a ringing — pure, high. It didn't seem to exist in the air so much as move through it, making everything vibrate. Delicate. Exalted. And at the same time — deafening.

  My breath caught.

  Jo-Jo fell silent mid-sentence. Lia went pale.

  We all heard it.

  Jo-Jo looked at Lia, then at me, question in his eyes: you hear that too?

  "What is that...?" Lia whispered.

  And then the stripes thickened.

  The thin horizontal lines trembled, overlapped, accelerated. The space around us began to behave incorrectly — as if someone had grabbed the room and started twisting it like wet fabric.

  A wave of dizziness hit me.

  The floor dropped out from under my feet. I barely managed to crouch, gripping the edge of the table. The world tilted, rang, blurred.

  "Molly!" Lia cried. "What's happening?!"

  The ringing intensified.

  It became physical — a vibration through bones, teeth, chest. Bridget barked sharply, frightened, frantic. Jo-Jo wrapped his arms around Lia at once, speaking quickly into her ear, soothing her — but he was afraid too.

  And then the space broke.

  It didn't explode.

  It folded.

  The room compressed, twisted — and unfolded again.

  Before us rose a vast hall.

  Ceilings soaring impossibly high, luminous and translucent. Waterfalls. Plants. Vines. Light reflecting off glass and water. The air was warm, humid, alive. The ringing continued — now everywhere, as if the hall itself were singing.

  Creatures rushed around us.

  Pterosers — winged, fast, focused.

  Shi-moo darting everywhere, carrying things, squeaking.

  People... or not entirely people — Seruses. I knew at once by the way they moved, the way they looked, the way they knew what to do.

  I stood abruptly and moved toward Lia and Jo-Jo.

  Lia's eyes were wide, no longer questioning — only raw, naked fear.

  "Who are they...?" she whispered. "Molly... where are we?"

  I took her hands.

  They were shaking.

  "Listen to me," I said quickly, as calmly as I could. "Don't be afraid. Please. You're safe."

  "You... you knew?" Jo-Jo asked, horror in his voice.

  I didn't answer.

  I nodded.

  "I'll explain everything," I said. "I promise. Later. Right now... just trust me."

  I stepped closer and pulled Lia into an embrace.

  Tight.

  The kind of embrace you give when the world is breaking — and the only thing still holding shape is another person's warmth.