He rummaged through the debris, the desk, and the shelves, sensing for any ethereal object that might help him. He attempted to venture into the passages beyond, but every time he did he ended up back in the room with the curios, which amused Ms. Daisy endlessly.

When it got to be too much, he took a break from searching to cry some more. He wasn’t the right person for this. He wasn’t brave, like Sophia. He wasn’t smart, like Elliot. He wasn’t cunning, like Adeline. He wasn’t independent, like Dean.

And he wasn’t strong, like Ursula. More than anyone else, he wanted to be like Ursula. He wondered how anything could ever touch a person who was that strong and that good. He thought about the unfairness Ursula had endured, from others, and ultimately from herself in that final moment. He made himself face his own cruelties toward her, too. He hadn’t written the BEWARE OF DOG sign all those years ago in elementary school, but it was his imagination that inspired it. He was a scared kid, hurting who he needed to hurt so he could escape, and Ursula had been his friend anyways. It made him cry harder.

Beware of dog.

This memory turned a switch in Kane’s head, and before he knew fully why, he was kneeling in front of Ms. Daisy. She raised her dog eyebrows at him. It was very doglike. Too doglike. Why would someone as ridiculous as Poesy own a normal dog?

“Beware of dog,” Kane said. He looked between Ms. Daisy’s sleek, black coat and the door’s lustrous, black finish. The only time he’d seen the door work from this side was when Poesy was returning from walking Ms. Daisy. Otherwise, the whistle had to be used to call it. But whistles didn’t call doors. Whistles called dogs.

Kane’s hands were shaking as he scratched behind her ears.

“Find Sophia,” Kane begged.

Nothing happened.

“Find Ursula.”

Ms. Daisy’s nubby tail wagged, but that was it.

“Dean,” Kane said. “You know Dean, right?”

Ms. Daisy’s ears shot up, looking around for Dean excitedly. Kane pulled her to the door and pointed.

“Can you find Dean?”

Ms. Daisy sniffed at the door, circled it twice, and then assembled her sleek frame into stoic focus. From her keened a whine like Kane had never heard from a dog, but it was an old language between her and this doorway. The locks tumbled apart, reassembled, and clicked. The doors groaned open just an inch, issuing a strange, melodic whispering. To Kane, it sounded like triumph.

“Good girl.” Kane patted Ms. Daisy on the head absently. She licked his knuckles.

“Dean?” he called through the door.