That night, Aria didn't try to sleep.
Something about the attic door had planted itself in her mind — like a splinter she couldn't pull out. The more her brothers denied it, the more she felt certain: something was being hidden. Something they feared.
She waited until the house fell silent, until the lights went out and the creaking floors told her they were all in bed.
Then, she crept down the hallway.
The attic door loomed before her. Its surface was old, dark, but unlike the rest of the house, it had no dust — as if it had been touched recently. As if someone had been going in and out.
She reached out, half-expecting it to be locked. It wasn't.
The door creaked open with a long groan.
Inside was only darkness. But as her foot crossed the threshold, the air changed. The silence deepened. It felt as though she had stepped through an invisible curtain.
The attic wasn't what she expected.
It was vast — much larger than the house should allow. The ceiling arched high above, with stars glimmering where a roof should be. Shelves lined the walls, filled with objects that shimmered faintly: clocks without hands, books with glowing runes, feathers that floated on their own.
And in the center, three child-sized figures stood with their backs to her.
They turned slowly.
She gasped.
They were... her brothers. Or rather, they looked like Aidan, Caleb, and Ethan — but younger. Much younger. Eight, ten, twelve. Their eyes glowed faintly, and they looked at her not with recognition, but with fear.
"You shouldn't be here," said the smallest.
"You opened the Door," said another.
"Now it begins," whispered the third.
Before she could speak, the attic began to spin. Wind swirled around her, pulling at her clothes, lifting her off the ground.
Then everything turned white.