The door appeared at dawn, exactly where the second had vanished.

A simple wooden door, brass knob, standing alone on the frozen river. No arch. No runes. Just a door that hadn’t existed five minutes ago and would never exist again after today.

Harold Draven stood before it in bare feet and Reed’s old university hoodie, steam rising from his skin in the minus-twenty air. Behind him, the entire family waited at a respectful distance (close enough to catch him ...