It was Christmas Eve evening and the snow was creaking under the windows. Lena was hanging paper stars and snacking on warm gingerbread. Suddenly, the postman left a package with a dark red snowflake seal. The label bore her name and a strange instruction. Read after midnight, when the whole house is finally quiet. There was no sender, just a small star made of scented wax. Her parents busied themselves with the borscht and the clock ticked stubbornly. Lena slid the package under the bed and waited patiently. She could hear carols on the cage and the rustling of Christmas tree branches. Finally, the house fell asleep and silence fell like fluff. Every now and then she checked her watch and counted the Christmas tree's breaths. Maks pretended to be asleep, but one eye was alert. Lena tore open the paper and lifted the lid with a beating heart. Inside lay a brass key and a thin map of the city. The streets were drawn in silver ink and the market had a tiny clock. In the margin someone had annotated: Start where the last carol falls silent. On the back was a single word, written neatly: Trust. Suddenly something rang softly, like a distant sleigh bell. The key grew warm, and a dot on the map vibrated. Maks peeked into the room, sleepy and very curious. Maks whispered: Do you hear that? Those are not our bells. The dot on the map moved, leading them towards the balcony door. A luminous star was circling behind the glass, as if waiting to move. The snow of the balconies showed tiny, perfect hoofprints. The key pulsed, the lock clicked and someone knocked three times.