Pip loved the little sounds of the Pebble Ring Observatory. She loved the soft chime of pebbles skittering over the ground, and the hush of the copper dome above her, and the way Tovin always said, “Slow feet inside, quick eyes outside.”
So when the moon gave a small passing tug and the silver pebbles around the observatory began to spin faster, Pip was the first one to notice.
She was crossing the walkway with her red scarf flapping behind her, trying to follow the rattling sound toward the doors. The walkway doors were meant to swing open only when someone touched the latch, but now the spinning pebbles were tugging them open and shut by themselves. Bang. Open. Bang. Shut. Each time they moved, a cold draft slipped across Pip’s pebble-dusty boots and made the brass telescope inside give a tiny, unhappy shiver.
Pip hurried closer, because she wanted to be the one who noticed the problem first, the one who helped keep the observatory safe. But the doors kept bumping into her path, and every bang made the rhythm jump faster.
Then she saw something worse: the little safety locks along the door frame were starting to twitch, as if the pebble spin was pulling at them too. If those locks gave way, the doors might not stay steady at all.
Pip planted her feet and stared at the rattling doorway. She could try to look at the pebbles, run to Tovin, or press in and see if she could stop the doors herself before the locks slipped loose. She had reached the doors now — and she had to choose fast.
What happens next?
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