Pip was already on her knees beside the Observatory door, scooping silver pebbles into neat little lines with the toe of her red scarf wrapped around her wrist so it would not drag. The moon turned slowly under her feet, and the pebbles answered by skittering in tiny arcs, chiming softly like wind chimes in another room. Inside, Mira leaned near the brass telescope, listening to the hum of the big orange-and-cream planet through the dome slit. Nera stood by the cracked steps with her silver goggles pushed up, counting the pebble marks she had made in the dust.
Then something odd happened. The pebbles did not just roll with the moon. They began to roll in the same direction, one after another, all at once, as if an unseen hand had tapped them into a path. The line bent toward the Observatory steps, curved around Pip’s boots, and stopped right at the threshold.
Nera’s pencil paused. Mira looked up. Pip reached out before anyone could stop her and touched the first pebble in the line. It was warm.
From inside the doorway came a soft click, like a lock trying to decide whether to open. All three children stared at the dark gap under the brass telescope, where a thin ribbon of dust was sliding across the floor toward the dome slit.
Pip felt the room waiting. If she called for help, maybe someone would come from deeper in the Observatory. If she followed the pebble line inside, she might find what had started it. If she asked Nera first, Nera would probably already have a theory, and theories at the Observatory never stayed small for long.
What happens next?
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