Her cloak was the color of rust and twilight, stitched with silver thread that caught no light. Behind her lay the mortal valley, quiet and forgetful. Ahead sprawled the Borderlands, where memory frayed and time breathed sideways. She held no sword. Instead, a brass key hung from her neck — warm, heavy, and humming with a tune only the dead could hear.

Lara knelt. “That’s your lie, little one. Keep it. You’ll need it on the other side.”

“I once wanted to go through too.”