How do you open a portal to anywhere you want? First, you draw a Ripper-triangle in the dirt and pray to Grefus, god of space, to recognise it. Then, you form a boundary around the triangle, giving the portal its shape. Lastly, you warm the triangle to a temperature so unbearable that only the strongest could endure it.

  Maselli sat on one motorcycle, Ezra behind him, facing the opposite direction with a plasma gun pointed at the ground. Anna-Lisa and Hanna followed suit, Anna-Lisa seated behind Hanna. On Maselli’s signal, they would ride their bikes around the triangle at a constant speed while Anna-Lisa and Ezra fired plasma into the symbol. If everything worked, a portal would open somewhere far from Blackwood.

  It should work, Maselli thought. We have to try.

  Everyone else waited outside the boundary, silently hoping he was right. He wasn’t an expert on motorcycles, but his hands gripped the handles like he’d been riding all his life. Hanna surged forward, Anna-Lisa shooting a steady plasma beam into the dirt. Maselli followed, slower than Hanna, and Ezra fired as well.

  The dirt crystallized beneath them, forming a black-glass path over which their bikes sped. They circled the triangle once—nothing. Twice—still nothing. Plasma guns periodically reloaded before firing again. Soaked in sweat, neither Hanna nor Maselli paused to breathe. With every failed cycle, their anxiety deepened.

  “One more round. It should work this time,” Maselli muttered.

  They fired plasma into the triangle again. Dust sprayed into Maselli’s eyes. He veered out of the circle, nearly hitting one of the children, and quickly hopped off. Ezra was instantly there, holding him steady.

  “Let me see,” she said.

  A speck of dust burned his eye, and she lifted his chin to blow it out. Both his eyes stung; he was sure they were red. Maselli nudged her away gently with an elbow when he realized everyone was watching.

  “Let’s try again. We have to go faster. The heat isn’t distributed enough.” Maselli waited for someone to argue—Hanna? Ezra? Anyone. None did. Their silence felt like sympathy, as if they understood the weight he carried. He swung back onto the bike, revved the engine, and paused at the collective gasp of the group.

  A dark blotch moved through the sky, emerging from the forest. “Get down!” he yelled, but no one obeyed. The object crashed a few metres away. Anna-Lisa raised her plasma gun instantly. Ezra gasped first, covering her mouth. A shiver ran down Maselli’s neck and spine. The moonlight broke through the clouds and illuminated the object, making his stomach churn. He didn’t retch. Just because he had feared this didn’t mean he should be proven right.

  A motorcycle wheel spun slowly, glinting with blood. Metal rods, tubes, and pipes protruded from a blob of flesh and fabric. Saliva held the mangled pieces together, defying identification. Maselli knew without doubt whose fate this was: Conrad and Rita. He glanced at Hanna, unsure what to read on her face. She didn’t seem to know either.

  “We don’t have much time left,” Maselli said. “Let’s hurry.”

  Without another word, they began circling the triangle again. One more trip—one more orbit—one more chance to tear a rift through time and space. One more trip and they would see a sign, one more and they’d escape Blackwood. No one else had to die. One more…

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  Then Hanna struck. She jabbed Anna-Lisa off her motorcycle with an elbow, snapped out of the circle, and charged straight through the Blackens toward Blackwood Forest. Dust trailed behind her as she fled the village. Maselli froze. Did she just doom herself?

  He exhaled and smiled faintly, staring at the mess on the ground. All this struggle, all this fighting for a life—was it worth it? Maybe not. But hope felt good, and that was why no one had argued with him.

  Anna-Lisa picked herself up, rubbing her sore elbow and pouting. She glared at Maselli, threw her plasma gun on the ground, and walked toward the tunnel.

  “We have to go,” Ezra said, and she meant it only for Maselli. But the rest followed suit, and what a small lot they were. Maselli could not move. Even when it came down to just him, Ezra, and Mari on the surface, he could not budge. Hanna—his friend, the best friend he had ever had—was gone. He waited until Mari and Ezra dragged him by the arms back down into the tunnel.

  They settled in the hallway, not far from the entrance. When the sun rose, its light reflected off the walls, falling on them. Maselli and his mother leaned together, knees drawn up. Anna-Lisa had fled somewhere to cry, and Zerah had gone to find her. She had left her baby with Ezra, who was relieved to be back underground, entertaining Penny and Mark with a story.

  How long had Maselli felt peace? A time without agendas or deadlines—a moment meant for him alone, to breathe, rest, and be free. He knocked his head against the wall.

  “She is a brave girl, much braver than her parents. I’m sure she will survive.”

  For a fleeting moment, Maselli thought Mari meant Ezra—until he realized she meant Hanna. A knot formed in his throat. Her name haunted him.

  Maselli’s head floated, while the rest of his body weighed as if filled with iron. His voice was gone. When he tried to speak, he could only feel his grounded soul churn. The one who said men don’t cry was a liar. What could he do when his world had fallen apart so completely? Why do good people suffer? He didn’t know much, but he knew this: he did not deserve it.

  “I once saw something lurking in the church well. When I told Hanna, she said it was my mind playing tricks—mermaids didn’t exist, nor mythical sea creatures. I asked her, ‘What if there’s a portal at the bottom of the well? We could see the other side for ourselves.’

  “Hanna took a lantern and followed me that night. She watched me climb down. Then I slipped and fell. The water was shallow—I wasn’t drowning—but I hurt my ankle. She was going to call for help, but I begged her not to. I didn’t want Aron to find out, and I was terrified of being alone in the dark. She lowered the lantern to me first, then climbed down so I wouldn’t be alone. I cried the whole time, but she kept saying we were fine…”

  He couldn’t move forward, his eyes full of tears, head buried between his knees. Mari placed a hand on his back, saying nothing.

  “I took her for granted,” he whispered. “I never appreciated her enough… and now there’s no way to make it up to her.”

  “She’s a brave girl, Maselli,” Mari said. “I’m sure she’ll make it out of Blackwood alive.”

  Maselli paused, staring at her. Where did that faith come from? Few knew Mari as well as he did, and the Mari he knew would cry alongside him. She was pale, dry, thin, and heartbroken—but she wasn’t crying.

  “You believe that?” he asked, voice tight. “You believe Hanna is alive?”

  “I do,” she said simply.

  Maselli lifted his head and looked at Ezra. Zerah and Anna-Lisa were back, listening to his sister’s stories. Ezra had two fingers held behind her head, tongue sticking out. Mark and Penny giggled when she blew a raspberry.

  “Jeromy,” Maselli said softly. “Where was he that day… when Hanna and I were stuck in the well?”

  “Home with me, I suppose. I don’t remember,” Mari said.

  “But I heard your voice that night,” Maselli pressed. “You led the village in the search.”

  “Then I suppose it was your father,” she said. “You children were young then. Jeromy was just a baby.”

  Aron had been the one to pull Maselli and Hanna out, muttering about Maselli’s responsibility. Jeromy must have been with Aunt Patrica or someone else. Maselli pressed his thumb and index finger against the corners of his eyes. His mind ached—there was something about Jeromy he couldn’t remember.

  “Mari,” he said, voice trembling. “What is Jerry’s index?”

  “It’s quite similar to yours,” she replied. “One… three… seven…?” Her expression drained of emotion. “I don’t remember.”