Alice exploded into the house like a gunshot. Helena shot Walery a glance, but he just shook his head—a silent warning. Don’t ask. Gregory sighed into his tea, a needle of disappointment pricking his chest. So much for the wardrobe renovation. Two hours wasted hunting hinges, and for what? Oh well. That would have to wait. Alice had more important matters now.

  “What in God’s name happened to her?” Helena hissed.

  “Not our concern,” Walery muttered, newpaper rustling like dry leaves. “This world… I don’t recognize it anymore.”

  Gregory bared his teeth in a grin.

  “Tech’s changing. Why drown in papers you barely understand?”

  “Maybe I don’t understand, but I still want to know what’s going on. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I can’t stay informed.”

  “Sure, sure. I didn’t say a word.” The younger man waved him off.

  A whip-crack voice cut through:

  “How can you both sit there?!” Helena stood rigid, hands on her hips. “A child’s sobbing her soul out, and you’re just… What if something terrible happened to her?”

  Silence.

  The men stared at her like she’d sprouted horns. Then, simultaneously, they exhaled.

  Walery folded his paper with surgical precision and said calmly:

  “Woman. Nothing touched her.”

  “Oh? And how would you—?”

  “Because HE’s watching,” Gregory murmured, eyes fixed on the dregs of his tea.

  Everyone always felt a bit uncomfortable whenever HE was mentioned.

  “He wouldn’t let harm reach her.”

  Walery nodded, sudden fervor in his gaze. Helena deflated. She hated it—but Gregory was right. Not-a-Doctor wouldn’t allow anything to happen to Alice.

  Upstairs, Alice shivered on the bed, still in her coat, knees crushed against her ribs. She hadn’t even bothered with her boots—just kicked them off so the dirt wouldn’t stain the sheets.

  The stranger’s death played on a loop behind her eyes. Who was he? Why did they kill him?

  She ached to understand, to piece it together like the detectives in her books—but she was nine, and the world refused to make sense. Her head pounded. Her heart thrashed.

  Why had they spared her? The mouse’s phantom warmth still clung to her palm.

  “HEY!” She screamed at the ceiling, voice cracking. “You were supposed to PROTECT me!”

  Silence.

  She knew he was listening. Not-a-Doctor always watched. He knew about the forest. He had to.

  “Come OUT!” She punched the mattress, words spiraling into hysteria: “I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE—”

  “I’ll regret it?”

  A voice like frozen honey.

  Alice jerked upright, blood icing in her veins. The room plunged into winter.

  “Do enlighten me.”

  Not-a-Doctor lounged against the wall, black coat slicing the lamplight. His hands stayed pocketed, casual as a cat with a pinned mouse. Handsome, some stupid, traitorous part of her noted. The rest froze.

  “Well?” He cocked his head. “I’m waiting.”

  The air thickened, suffocating. Alice blurted:

  “They killed a man in the woods!”

  “And?” He lit a cigarette, the flare painting his face hell-orange.

  “They—they almost killed ME!”

  “Yet here you are.” He exhaled smoke, eyes glacial. “Problem solved.”

  Alice slammed her fists down.

  “You DON’T CARE!”

  “Astute observation.” He took a drag, savoring her fury. “I don’t.”

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  Her rage stuttered. Now what? How do you fight a glacier?

  “I was scared!” Her voice splintered. “He—he said he was dying for me!”

  Not-a-Doctor laughed, a sound like breaking glass.

  “Oh, child.” He wiped his eyes, mocking. “He died because of you. Massive difference.”

  The words crushed her.

  “I needed cover,” he continued, twirling the cigarette. “Every time I enter this world, it throws off its natural balance. My power compared to human power is like a giant neon sign screaming: Intruder alert!” He gestured vaguely. “Once, twice, maybe even three times—it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Weird things happen. But four? Four’s one too many to ignore. I had to cover my tracks.”

  Alice stared, lost.

  “I used him. So they wouldn’t hunt you. Four crossings," Not-a-Doctor said, ticking them off on his fingers like a macabre countdown. "First—the hospital. Second—when you arrived here. Third..."

  "...when I brought Gregory home," Alice whispered.

  He smiled coldly and asked:

  "And the fourth?"

  "My school trouble."

  "The first three were... contained." He plucked an invisible thread from his sleeve. "The fourth? That was your tantrum."

  Alice dug her nails into the quilt.

  "Someone noticed," he continued. "Every world has its... caretakers. When rules are broken, they call Heaven, and they send executioners. They kill trespassers. Then they kill witnesses. So knowing all that, I planted bait. That man? A distraction. They took him, assumed case closed, and left. Simple."

  Alice's stomach twisted.

  "He died because—"

  "—because you can't control your own energy." Not-a-Doctor sighed, as if explaining why rain falls. "If you'd learned that, they would’ve sensed you were different from the rest of the people here. Sometimes, children are born with special gifts. Those children disrupt the balance too, but they belong to this world. The executioners wouldn’t have had the right to harm you. They’d have come to investigate something unusual— found no tear between worlds, no evidence of anyone crossing over. They’d have searched a while, and then stumbled across a little girl who didn’t quite fit into human norms. Case closed. They’d leave in peace.”

  “What…?”

  “Exactly what you heard, Alice. He died, because if he hadn’t, you would have.”

  Alice sat on the bed, trying to make sense of it all. But the facts kept slipping through her fingers, refusing to form any coherent whole. She sort of understood—in theory, it was simple.

  But something in her still refused to believe it.

  “Why is this my fault? This happened because of you!”

  The man laughed again.

  “Oh, Alice… they wouldn’t have found me. I’m stronger than they are. I know how to throw those idiots off. But you could’ve made sure they left without hurting anyone.”

  “How?”

  “If you’d learned to control your energy, they would’ve sensed you were different. Sometimes, children are born with… gifts. They disrupt the balance too, but they belong here. The executioners wouldn’t have had the right to harm you. They’d have come, investigated, found nothing—no tear between worlds, no proof of a crossing. Just a girl who didn’t fit human norms. Case closed. They’d leave in peace.”

  Suddenly, Alice felt sick. Her stomach twisted sharply, painfully, and everything inside surged up before she could stop it. She vomited beside the bed, the remains of breakfast splattering the floor. The nausea racked her body long after. Meanwhile, the man took a final drag, crushed his cigarette against the wall, and flicked it away.

  “Guilt’s nasty, isn’t it?” he mused, as if discussing the rain. “All you had to do was listen.

  Practice what I taught you. That man would still be alive.”

  “But I—” Alice whimpered, before her stomach heaved again.

  “But you didn’t have time, right? Too busy—school, chores, that unfair life of yours.

  Your classmates played while you worked. Couldn’t tell Helena ‘not today.’ Couldn’t tell Walery ‘I need to train.’ And Gregory? He had to wait. Saturday was your day! I get it, Alice. You needed to run. You needed a break. You had to go play in the woods. Had to escape all those boring responsibilities. It’s normal. After all, you’re just a kid. You’re still learning how life works. You don’t know the right questions to ask yet.”

  “Then why...?!”

  “Because children learn best through pain.”

  The Not-a-Doctor smiled even wider, though it seemed impossible.

  “Now you know I can show up anytime you want me to. Oh, it’s no trouble at all, really! I can be here every day, Alice. I can read you bedtime stories, rock you to sleep if you’d like. But someone will have to pay for it.”

  Alice stared at him, terror carved deep into her face. She didn’t want to believe, but the truth coiled in her gut, undeniable. This monstrous man was her knight,

  always saving her from the worst. A knight on a black horse, sword dripping blood.

  And then she realized the blood was on her hands too. She hadn’t killed, but the guilt was hers. Every failure. Every mistake. The price had been too cruel. Then it hit her.

  Her voice cracked:

  “But you’re here again. So… someone else will die?”

  The smile vanished from his face —replaced by disgust, irritation. He stood silent, drinking in her fear until it bored him. Then, he said flatly:

  “No, you idiot. I’m a merciful god. This is just a dream.”

  Alice jerked upright, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like a war drum. The taste of vomit clung to her tongue. She lunged over the bed’s edge, expecting stains—

  but found nothing. No bile. No charred mark from a cigarette. She wanted to cry. To scream. To dance. The guilt crumbled under relief. Just a dream. Dreams don’t demand payment. She slumped back into bed.

  That dream again. The one she knew she’d had before. Outside, a silver moon hung in a star-scattered sky. It meant something—she felt it—but the meaning slipped away. Water murmured. A river glittered with stolen starlight. And there—two figures, backs turned, rooted to the path. A bench behind them. She knew them. She knew them too well. They spoke, but the words dissolved into rustling leaves. A foreign language—yet she could almost understand it. Or remember. But not tonight.

  She watched, straining. One figure, shorter, wore a knee-length coat. Now sitting on the bench (when had they moved?), smoking. The air thrummed with tension. The second: a floor-length coat (leather?), hooded. Boots reinforced with metal—buckles gleaming at the cuffs. How did she know? She hadn’t seen. She just knew. They smoked too. Smelled of blood and incense. Death clung to them like a second skin. Both radiated power— not human strength, but something rarer. Yet the taller one held something else. A nuance. A detail so slight it almost escaped notice—but it changed everything. Majesty. A godlike superiority that demanded kneeling. Her legs shook with the urge to collapse, to worship—even as her mind whispered: It’s just a dream.