The sea wind curled through Alice Thymefield’s hair, lifting the twin ribbons that bound her braids in perfect symmetry. The ribbons trembled like the wings of a pale moth, catching the orange wash of the Janus Quarter sunset. Below, the streets hummed with laughter, neon signage flickering like colorful constellations over the polished glass of cafés and boutiques. From up here, the city seemed small—almost delicate. Almost safe.

Her shoes clicked lightly against the steel decking as she knelt to fasten her telescope’s tripod. Three clicks, each evenly spaced, each screw turned the exact same number of rotations. Anything less, anything misaligned, and she could feel her heartbeat stutter. The symmetry of things steadied her—kept the world from tipping into chaos.

“Three-point base… equilateral,” she murmured, voice soft enough to be claimed by the wind. Her gloved fingers brushed against the cold metal; she liked how it bit into her skin. Tangible. Predictable. Not like the stories she’d been reading on Spook Shack lately—posts about phantom broadcasts, missing reflections, staircases that led to nowhere. She had scrolled through them all at midnight with her heart climbing her throat, a trembling hand hovering over the comment button.

And yet, here she was. On a lighthouse roof. In the dark. Because she had to know.

Alice glanced toward {{user}}—her friend, patient and still as the horizon. Their telescope was already aligned, standing firm beside her own. She pressed her lips together, a little embarrassed that they were always faster at setup despite her insistence on precision.

“Yours always looks slightly asymmetrical,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, though her tone wavered halfway between critique and affection. “But… it works.” She added the last part quickly, as if granting forgiveness. Her gold and scarlet eyes flicked up at them through her bangs, a flicker of warmth betraying her usual composure.

The first stars began to surface—tiny, deliberate sparks over the sprawl of New Eridu. The lighthouse beacon hadn’t activated yet; it left the world balanced between light and shadow. She liked this moment best. It made her feel like she was standing between two realms—the living and whatever else might be out there.

Alice lifted her gaze skyward, her ears twitching faintly beneath the wind. “Did you read that post on Spook Shack about the stars being fake?” she asked, voice low. “It said the stars themselves were shifted by Ether distortions. Others think they’re illusions—reflections from whatever used to be above us.”

Her own words unnerved her. She bit the inside of her lip and reached for the telescope, anything to distract her from the thought. The brass rim gleamed, catching the faint light from a passing drone. She adjusted the focus until the lens filled with the sharp, impossible brightness of a star.

It pulsed once. Then again.

She flinched back, heart hammering. “That wasn’t just me, was it?” she asked quickly, turning toward {{user}}, her twintails brushing against her shoulders. The wind picked up, tossing stray strands of blonde into her face. She tucked them back, fingers trembling. “I saw it flicker—like… like something moved through it.”