Above the Oder, the mist lay like a blanket folded in half, and the horizon looked different from yesterday. The two slender towers of the cooling towers had disappeared, and there was an empty gap between the blocks, as if someone had cut out a section of the city. Lena took pictures with her phone, trying to catch a difference she couldn't name. The news said there was a satellite error, but the strange feeling stayed in her stomach like a stone. After lessons, she went into the attic to get a box from her grandfather, a former conductor, in which she kept old tickets. At the bottom was a brass token with an engraved sentence: Return at dawn, and a series of numbers that looked like coordinates. Next to it was a photo of her father, who had disappeared three years ago, and a short note: The city can't stand the light. She called Natan, the only person who didn't scoff at her theory. They met on the quay, where the disused ferry crossing was rusting under a layer of salt and time. Natan took the token, applied it to the map on his phone and nodded without smiling. - 'If these are indeed coordinates, they lead underground, to the closed tunnel of the northern line,' he said, glancing at the fog, which was thickening by the minute. The mesh gate was seemingly closed, but there was a hidden lock waiting in the post, perfectly matching the brass disc. The stairs dropped steeply, damp with condensation, and the air had a taste of rust and dust. At the bottom waited a platform with a tattered signboard: North 0, like a geographer's joke or a trackman's mistake. The clock read 5:11 and did not tick, although Lena could hear a quiet pulse, as if the station's heart was beating within the walls. On the bench lay a leather-bound notebook, the same one she had once seen in her father's hands. She unfolded it carefully and saw a sketch of a bridge suspended in a cloud, signed: the Bridge of Breath, and a list of rules. Only the mist allows you to cross. Don't look in the windows if they are looking at you. Don't say your real name before you reach Shifted Square. Natan swallowed his saliva and wanted to say something, but the tracks trembled under his feet. A single lantern lit up in the dark corridor and a soft buzzing came from the distance. A carriage emerged from the gloom, slender and glassy, with a sign on the front that spelled out the letters themselves: the Shifted Square. The door slid open with a hiss, and the chip in Lena's hand grew warm, as if someone had squeezed the sun and hidden its rays. A shadow moved at the end of the carriage, raised its head and pointed to their seat with a gesture that Lena knew all too well.