"Wake up, baby—this is important," Cyrus said as he lowered a glowing token into Lexi's palms.
"I woke," Lexi answered, fingers closing around warm light. She blinked twice and smelled the sleep of the dream-room: old wood, lemon oil, and the sea when Cyrus let it pass. Her toes curled against the quilt of stars.
Cyrus sat on the edge of the bed. He was not an old man here. He was a shape that did not need a shape. He tapped the token and a tiny pearl opened inside his palm like a doorway.
"This is for the world where the buildings sleep with lights on," he said. "You will go alone."
Lexi squinted. "Alone?" Her voice was the size of a whisper sandwiched between courage and mischief.
"Alone," Cyrus repeated. He tucked a list into the pearl—three things, neatly folded. "You cannot steal our power. Merit must be earned."
Lexi kissed the back of his hand. "I will get merit."
"You will earn it the hard way," Cyrus said without softness. "You will solve a dangerous thing. You will not change the law. You will not force choice. You will be small and clever."
"How small?" Lexi demanded, solemn.
"Three," Cyrus said. "You will look three. That helps you be hidden and heard."
He pressed the pearl between her palms. The light hummed. Little items rearranged themselves inside: a flare the size of a button, a scent-tube that pulsed faintly, a tiny wrench
