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," Pip repeated. "So last time we all dozed off right at 7:02 and it grabbed us." They linked arms in a circle and pinched each other to stay sharp. The clock clicked to 7:02. The gray light flared bright, daring them to blink.

Mara blinked first. Just once. The light grabbed it and yanked them all back to 7:02. Same plates, same syrup. But now they knew the trick. Loop after loop they held each other up, pinching and joking to stay sharp, until one morning all five made it through without blinking. The gray light buckled and broke, and real sun rushed in.