"Mama, I drew the scary place again."
I looked up from Luna's birthday preparations—five candles on a chocolate cake, presents wrapped in golden paper, streamers hanging from every surface of our penthouse living room. Luna Academy had been running successfully for two years, hybrid children were thriving under proper education, and for the first time since this whole adventure began, life felt almost normal.
Almost.
Luna stood beside her easel, holding a paintbrush dripping with black paint. The canvas showed her usual artistic skill—remarkable for a five-year-old—but the subject matter made my blood run cold.
The painting depicted a massive tear in what looked like reality itself. Through the rip, dark shapes with too many angles pressed against the edges, trying to push through into our world. And standing in front of the tear, three familiar figures: Alexander, myself, and Luna, all in fighting stances.
"Luna," I said carefully, "what is this place?"
