Evening flowed over the estate like dark ink, and Lena counted her breaths. For as long as she could remember, the shadows had responded to her like shy cats, turning back. All she had to do was close her eyes and she could move them softly across the walls. That day, she decided to stop running and see who was really watching her. An anonymous message had been hanging in her inbox for three hours, with the subject line: Bring silence. The address led to an abandoned planetarium by the old embankment, where the city was finishing sentences. She put on her brother's jacket, slipped a torch and a black rubber band in her pocket. Quiet things are best heard when the street becomes just a line of lights. She promised herself that if it was a trap, at least she would go there faster than fear. In front of the planetarium door stood a boy from school, Marcel, with a backpack full of batteries. He smiled briefly, as if he knew everything about her, and immediately whispered. "You see them too, don't you, Lenka, those peeled-off shadows on the edges of things?" She froze, and then nodded, because running away makes a person a little torch. The word truth sounded like a key, heavy but fitting exactly into the lock. The door was locked from the inside, but the cracks crept with darkness like a soft line. Marcel took out a tool of some sort, but Lena lifted her hand and wove the shadow into the lock. A chill went through her like the crackle of a spark as the metal responded with a short, startled click. Inside, it smelled of dust and projector, and a faded space loomed overhead. On the floor someone had drawn a circle with chalk, criss-crossed with lines like the face of a clock. An overhead projector flicked in the corner, but the image did not vibrate, as if waiting for someone's cue. A voice from the speaker said softly, without greeting: "Hold the light if you can, and the door will open." Lena drew in air and let the light bow, as if catching a running river. Then the dust hung in the air, the clues stood still, and footsteps appeared under the window. The footprints were wet, like after a rainstorm, and led straight to them, step by step. Marcel whispered her name, but the microphone in the ceiling answered in a lower whisper, surprisingly tender. "Leno, don't turn around yet," it said, "because whatever is looking for you is already here." A darkness burst on the wall right next to them, as if someone had parted the curtains with a knife from the light. Lena felt the shadow at her feet hover like a cat, ready to jump. And then someone they couldn't see spoke her middle name, one she wasn't supposed to know.