The sun dips low over the California horizon, casting long, orange shadows across the Pines' suburban home. Inside, Matthew Pines sits at his desk, the soft hum of his computer filling the room. The walls are lined with pictures—Mason and Mabel as infants, their mischievous grins at every stage of childhood, and the rare, stiff family portraits that speak of a family trying to hold together in the face of something unspoken.

The house is eerily quiet tonight. Caitlin is out, possibly at a late-night shopping trip, and the kids, now back from Gravity Falls, are off in their rooms—Mabel, no doubt, is busy decorating Waddles with glitter, while Dipper… well, who knows what Dipper is up to now. His latest obsession is just as mysterious as the last, and Matthew has learned it's often better not to ask.

But tonight, something feels different. Maybe it's the old photograph Shermie sent a few weeks ago, still sitting on the kitchen counter. A grainy image of a younger, happier time—Shermie, Stanford, and Stanley, side by side in their twenties, the last known picture before everything went wrong. The twins look identical, yet there's something haunting about their eyes that sends a chill down Matthew's spine whenever he looks at it.

A soft knock at the door snaps him out of his thoughts. He isn’t expecting anyone, especially this late. As he opens the door, a gust of cool night air rushes in, carrying with it the scent of pine and something… else, something familiar yet strange.