Claire nodded and stood in front of the door. With a deep breath, she tugged her pencil out from behind her ear. Her job was to make sure Sena’s parents and the unicorn would recognize this seam as an opening to Arden.

And so, she set her pencil to the smooth wood of the door, and began to draw.

The Rhona and the Tayrn flourished under her pencil, and soon mountains and fields unrolled beside it, along with scenes of Spinners rowing in their narrowboats, Tillers tending apple orchards, Forgers bending over flames, and Gemmers standing in a citadel’s tower, looking out over a wall they could not cross. Soon, the door was covered with a map of Arden—its towns and its people and its creatures.

Claire made a few more quick lines, adding a wyvern wrapping around Mount Rouge. She let its tail drop down to tickle the image of a sleeping Gryphin in chimera fields. The little copper creature perched on Sena’s shoulder crooned appreciatively as Claire lifted her pencil away.

“There,” she said, collapsing on the petal-pouf nearby to let the others take a closer look. “Done.” She felt a bit dizzy, but she wasn’t sure if that was the nerves or just the result of a long day followed by an even longer night.

“This is spectacular,” Sophie said, “But …”

Claire straightened up. “But what? Did I mess up the map?”

Sophie shook her head. “No, not at all! But while this is the Arden Sena’s parents know, I don’t know if the unicorn will recognize this as his home. I’ve seen bits of what life used to be like—memories of racing the wind in Spinner sails and long afternoons in Tiller gardens, helping people with the more tricky crops. Forgers even used to make shiny golden rings for the unicorn foals to play with. And this—” she gestured at the door, “doesn’t even have a single unicorn on it.”

“I can fix that!” Claire said, rising to her feet. She was still tired, but Sophie’s words had ignited her imagination. “I’ll try again. I’ll draw you a world full of unicorns.”

As Sophie began to share, Claire drew the unicorn’s dreams on the door—dreams of long-legged foals sleeping on meadows, of cold sea spray flying off his mane, of a family of sisters and brothers who knew each star by name and every shadow on the moon.

Sophie spoke with longing in her voice, and Claire let the longing seep into her work on the door. Claire knew the feeling well.

This needed to work. They had to open the seams. The unicorn must return to Arden.

Suddenly, it was like someone had turned up the volume on Claire’s senses. The air became sweet. The textured grain of the door stood out in sharp relief. An unexpected certainty swept through her. And then—