Outside, morning felt thin. Mira shut her sketchbook with a soft snap and muttered, “Maybe my bridge idea was silly after all,” as she rubbed the smudges from her fingers.

Grandpa Drift tapped his stick and started a tale, then stopped halfway. “Now where did that ending wander off to?” he asked, scratching his cap.

Even Auntie Kelpseal’s baking song came out small. Peep landed by the door and whispered, “Something’s wrong, and I think Ori feels it too.”