"Also," she added, "your ramen is getting cold."

And, against every instinct he possessed, he was a little bit curious about what came next.

Kaito picked up his chopsticks. He took a bite. He chewed.

Until the letter arrived.

"You're late," she said, her voice a dry whisper. "The first key has turned. The second will rattle. And the third…" She tilted her head, a disturbingly bird-like motion. "The third will break something."

This time, it was open. And sitting beside it was a small, ornate key made of what looked like polished bone. It hummed faintly when he touched it, a low vibration that traveled up his arm and settled behind his ribs.

"Let me guess," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're not here to fix my plumbing."

One smelled of lightning and old libraries. The other, of roses and rust.

Silence. Then, a sound like a wet leaf being dragged across stone. From the darkness of the hallway, a shape emerged. It was a girl. Pale, with eyes the color of old honey, wearing a tattered school uniform that looked a hundred years out of date. Her feet didn't quite touch the floor.