By dawn the Lantern Festival was over. Wren walked the rows along the river, pinching out flame after flame. Every paper lantern died at her touch but one. It hung at the water's edge, glowing a steady gold no breeze could shake. When she reached for it, the little wick leaned away from her fingers and tugged its string, like it wanted her to follow.

Wren untied the string and let the lantern go. Instead of drifting up, it floated forward, low over the path, waiting for her to keep up. "Okay," she whispered. "Lead, then." It bobbed once, like a nod, and started down the riverbank.

The lantern led Wren up a hill path she'd never noticed, away from the sleeping town. At the top stood a crooked wooden door with no house around it, just a door in the grass. The lantern floated up to it and waited, glowing, as if asking her to knock.

Wren reached for the handle, but the lantern bumped her hand and shook side to side. Not this door. It floated to a second door she hadn't seen, hidden in the long grass, and glowed steadily over that one instead, sure of itself now.