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She looked down at her hand. She hadn’t noticed it before, but between her thumb and forefinger, the skin was cold. Numb. And when she held her hand up to the faint light from the attic window, she saw it: a hairline crack in the air itself, no wider than a thread, running from her palm up toward the ceiling. And at the very edge of her vision, just for a flicker, she saw a shape watching her from inside the gap.

It had her grandmother’s eyes.

Beatrice noticed. Her calm cracked. “Oh,” she said, a small, surprised sound. “They’re here early.” Untitled Video

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