The clock blinked 7:02 a.m. again. Same gray light on the curtains, same five kids in the same sleeping bags, same syrup on the same five plates. The pancakes tasted like wet cardboard, just like before. Pip counted on her fingers. "Guys," she whispered, "this is the fourth morning. The fourth time. We keep starting over." Mara dropped her fork. "Okay. So how do we make it stop?"

"The clock," Pip said. "Every reset happens when it hits 7:02. Maybe if we mess with the clock, we mess with the loop." The five of them crowded around the little alarm clock on Mara's dresser. It hummed softly, way too warm to touch.

Pip flipped the clock over and pried off the back panel. Instead of batteries, there was a tiny folded note inside. She opened it with shaking hands. In neat little letters it said: "To stop the morning, someone has to stay awake through it."

"Stay awake through it," Theo read again. "Maybe one of us has to stay awake and hold the loop open while the others slip out." The room went quiet. Then Mara stood up. "It's my birthday. My house. I'll be the one who stays awake."

"No," Pip said, pulling Mara back. "Nobody stays behind. We all go or none of us go." They grabbed hands in a tight chain and ran for the door together as the clock screamed toward 7:02. They burst out into real grass, real sun, real birds. Behind them the gray house folded up like paper and blew away.