The flames aren’t too large and the heat isn’t overpowering. Taraana pricks his finger, steps forward, and squeezes a few drops of his blood onto the flames. We hold our breaths. The lights in the Between flicker, the flames rise up, but a few moments later, the lights return to normal and the flames retreat.

“Why did it fail again? What am I doing wrong?” Taraana stares at the door with not a small amount of frustration. He combs a hand through his hair.

“Wait,” Daraja says. She pulls Taraana back. “What if it’s us?”

“What do you mean?” Areum asks.

Daraja bites her lip. “Tabassum Naaz immersed her entire self in the water. What if Taraana needs to do the same? The stars we wear on our palms are also parts of him, right?”

“Do we take off the stars and return them to him?” Kamboja asks, staring at her palm.

“What if we add our blood to the fire as well?” Talei suggests. “Give him the box of remaining stars, Paheli, and we’ll add our blood to the fire. It’s worth a try.”

So, we do that. We add drops of our blood before Taraana adds his and step back from the fire. This time, as soon as Taraana’s blood hits the fire, the flames leap, but then, like before, they recede.

“It’s not us,” Kamboja announces very unnecessarily.

“What am I doing wrong?” Taraana looks like he’s going to start crying. “Paheli, what did Wa’ad say?” he suddenly asks. “What were her exact words?”

Paheli thinks for a second. “She said, and I quote, ‘All I know is that during the process, a keeper is remade. It is a physical transformation that makes it possible for the keeper to then use magic.’ ”

Taraana bites his lip and glares at the burning door as if it will give him some answers. The next second, without giving us any warning at all, he walks into the burning door. Our screams desert us at that moment as the Between shudders and the lights flicker before turning off. We stand in the darkness, watching as the burning door stops burning. The fire jumps to Taraana, and we realize that the fire is not fire but tangible magic. We watch as Taraana is infused with this magic; he burns with it. It reshapes him from the inside out. The stars we wear on our palms tingle as though they, too, are affected by this change.

The fire burns out after a minute, and Taraana steps back into the corridor. The door is solid again. The lights come back on brighter. The Between trills, and all of us jump at the unexpected sound. A sudden breeze chases away the usual mustiness in the Between, replacing it with the scent of freshly cut grass, the smell we associate with magic.