But as we stand there, the fire suddenly flickers. The wood in the walls begins to frost over. The temperature drops.
I gasp, looking around. "Kade, the quiet room. It’s failing."
Kade’s eyes widen. "It’s not failing. Something is pulling at the foundation."
Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the cabin bursts open.
Asher stumbles in. He is ten years old, dressed in his tactical gear, his face pale and streaked with soot. He is dragging Elara by the hand. Elara is asleep, floating an inch off the floor, her dark hair fanned out, her eyes squeezed shut in terror. Geometric shapes—hexagons, triangles, fractals—are swirling rapidly beneath her eyelids.
"Mama! Papa!" Asher cries, his voice echoing strangely in the mindscape. "She’s stuck! She’s trying to sleep, but the cold thing is pulling h
