Maya barely looks at me during dinner, pushing her peas around the plate with exaggerated sighs.

"I said I was sorry about the kittens," I whisper, but she just turns away, bringing Mr. Whiskers closer.

"Next time you'll take her," Mom says firmly, giving me that look that means no arguments. "Sisters need to stick together."

The evening drags as I wait for Claire. We'd planned it walking home from school - she'd come over after dinner, supposedly to work on Mrs. Hemlock's magic assignment. A perfect excuse to look through grandmother's journal together.

When she arrives, Mom barely looks up from her knitting. "Girls, don't stay up too late studying."

Maya hovers in the doorway of the living room, Mr. Whiskers clutched to her chest. "Can I-"

"Actually," I cut her off quickly, not wanting her anywhere near grandmother's dangerous secrets, "weren't you going to visit Mrs. Hedda's cats? They must be missing you after yesterday."

Mom shoots me a sharp look - she doesn't like Maya wandering alone at evening. But then her eyes flick to the schoolbooks Claire and I have carefully arranged, and something in her expression shifts. Just for a moment, I catch a flash of... understanding? Worry?

"I can walk Maya over," she says slowly, but Maya shakes her head.

"The pretty one says you're going to read older stories," she says softly, knowing somehow what I'm up to. "I'm going to visit Mrs. Hedda's cats instead. They tell nicer tales."

Mom hesitates, then nods. "Just be back before dark, Maya." The look she gives me as Maya skips out suggests she knows we're not really studying, but she doesn't stop us.

In my room, I pull grandmother's journal from its hiding place beneath the floorboards. The leather feels warm against my palms as I find the heavily annotated section titled "The Structure of the Upside Down: A Complete Analysis."

"Look at this," I whisper, spreading the pages carefully. "Grandmother documented everything about how it's built. The Upside Down isn't just one place - it's constructed in rings, like layers of reality pressed together."

Claire leans closer, her finger tracing the concentric circles grandmother drew with meticulous precision. "The Sanctum is the first layer..."

We pour over grandmother's careful observations:

"The Core Zone (The Sanctum) maintains most natural laws - bright air, ethereal landscapes, crystal trees that reflect light in impossible ways. Here, one might almost forget they've left our world, if not for the strange beauty that permeates everything. Safe, mostly, though danger can hide in unexpected places."

"The Middle Ring (The Twilight) marks where reality begins to fray - mysterious mist zones, twisted forests, lakes that reflect things that never were. The laws of nature bend here, making navigation treacherous without proper preparation."

When we reach the section on the Outer Ring, grandmother's handwriting remains neat and precise: "The Void remains largely unexplored to me. I have never ventured into the Void, nor do I intend to. Only the most foolhardy or desperate Guild members dare those depths. The reports speak of floating mountains, black crystal caves, indigenous populations that have adapted to chaos itself. The creatures there... they're beyond our understanding. No amateur explorer should even consider such madness. The air itself feels charged with mystic energy that corrupts everything it touches."

Claire's hand finds mine in the darkness. "Julie... what exactly are you thinking of doing?"

"I'm just... trying to understand," I whisper, but even I can hear the hunger in my voice as I turn the page. The next section shows detailed maps of entrances and exits.

"These markings," I whisper, pointing to symbols beside each description of the Sanctum. "She had a system for cataloging everything she found."

Claire leans closer, candlelight catching her worried frown. "Look here - notes about the portals."

The next pages detail grandmother's discoveries about passages between worlds. Her diagrams show ancient statues, each with distinct features and surroundings: a twisted oak whose roots form an endless spiral staircase downward, a stone archway that only appears at certain angles, a fountain whose water flows upward at midnight.

"'The gates hide in plain sight,'" I read, "'marked by signs for those who know to look. But attempts to create artificial passages have all ended in disaster.'" The margins fill with accounts of failed experiments - Guild mages who tried using conventional magic, Flow users who attempted to tear holes between worlds. All ending in tragedy.

"'The Crimson Flow shattered the barrier but consumed the caster,'" Claire reads, her voice tinged with awe. "'Azure created a window but drove the viewer mad. Even combining Flows proved catastrophic. The passages that exist were not made - they were found.'"

"Can you imagine being able to use the Flows like that?" I whisper excitedly. "Actually seeing the Azure Flow create windows between worlds!"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Claire's eyes light up. "I heard there's a Guild master who can use the Crimson Flow coming to Millbrook next month. Maybe if we save enough coins from chores, we could convince your parents to let us go see the demonstration?"

"Do you think they'll ever send someone to teach us here?" I ask, unable to hide my eagerness. "Mrs. Hemlock keeps saying we're too young for advanced magic, but grandmother was already studying the Flows at our age."

"Shhh!" Claire giggles, but I can see the same hunger in her eyes. "We're supposed to be satisfied with light spells and warming charms."

We share a conspiratorial grin before turning back to the journal. The next section details grandmother's first encounters with the Upside Down's inhabitants. Her sketches show luminescent mice whose crystalline whiskers detect energy patterns, tiny dragons. But as the pages continue, the creatures grow stranger.

"Mini dragons," Claire breathes, studying the detailed illustrations. "Like the one we chased that day..."

"They're called Shard Dragons," I read. "But look at this warning - 'Do not approach during feeding. Can mistake humans for food source.'"

A floorboard creaks outside my door, making us both freeze. But it's just the house settling, and we bend back over the journal.

"Pack Hunters," I read, suppressing a shiver. "Wolf-like entities that track emotional emanations. Hunt in groups of 3-7. Can be deterred by projected calm. Physical weapons useless."

"The Weeping Mother," Claire whispers. "A distorted maternal figure crying black tears. Lures victims by pretending to need help." Her fingers trace the disturbing sketch.

Each entry grows darker as grandmother ventured deeper into the rings. Beings of pure emotion, spirits trapped between forms, creatures that feed on memories instead of flesh. Her neat handwriting captures every detail - size, behavior, hunting patterns, defense strategies.

But it's her notes about the Void that make us both pause. Not frantic warnings, but cold, clinical observations of what lies in that deepest ring. Indigenous populations that have adapted to chaos itself. Creatures that exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously. Cities built from crystallized time.

"'I will not venture further,'" grandmother wrote. "'The Void holds secrets we are not meant to know. The Guild's deepest expeditions have all ended the same way - with silence. Let those mysteries remain unsolved.'"

"She went with Guild expeditions," I say, finding a passage that makes my heart race. "Because she could hear the whispers, like me. She could navigate paths others couldn't see-"

"Stop." Claire pulls away suddenly, her face pale in the candlelight. "I know where this is going. You want to find a way in."

"With proper preparation-"

"No." Her voice shakes. "You don't understand what happened to my grandfather after your grandmother disappeared. How it broke something in him. The way he still looks at the forest sometimes, like he's waiting..."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken fears.

"Claire," I start, but she's already standing, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"I won't help you disappear," she says. "I won't watch another person I love vanish into that place. Into the whispers."

The candle gutters between us. "I need to understand," I whisper. "Don't you see? The whispers are getting stronger. The things I can do... the way Maya's changing... I need to know what my grandmother discovered."

"What she discovered got her killed!" Claire's voice cracks on the last word.

The back door opens downstairs - Maya returning from the cats. In that moment of distraction, Claire snatches the journal from my hands.

"I'm taking this," she says, her voice shaking. "At least until you come to your senses."

"Claire, wait-" But she's already moving toward the door.

"What's happening?" Maya stands in the doorway, Mr. Whiskers clutched to her chest. Her eyes seem to glow strangely in the candlelight. "Are the pretty stories making you fight?"

"Nothing, Maya," Claire says quickly. "I just... I need to borrow something from Julie for a while."

She slips past Maya and down the stairs. We hear Mom's cheerful "Goodnight, Claire!" and the heavy finality of the front door closing.

I sink onto my bed, wrapping my arms around my knees. It hurts more than I want to admit - Claire was supposed to understand. She was supposed to help me figure this out.

Maya lingers in the doorway where Claire left her, Mr. Whiskers clutched tight against her chest. Her eyes still glow strangely in the candlelight as she watches me, head tilted in that way that usually means she's about to say something too wise for her age.

"When I'm sad, Mrs. Hedda's cats let me hug them," she offers instead, her voice small and ordinary. "Want to hug Mr. Whiskers?"

A small laugh escapes despite everything. "I'm not sad, Maya. I'm just..." But I can't explain betrayal to a six-year-old.

She climbs onto the bed anyway, settling beside me. "The black kitten misses you," she says softly. "He kept looking at the door today, even after I brought him treats."

I lean back against the headboard, feeling the fight drain out of me. "It's not quite the same thing."

"Want to hear about the kittens?" Maya asks, snuggling closer. "The black one learned to climb the curtains today."

She rambles about the kittens' adventures, her voice getting gradually sleepier. I find myself absently stroking her hair as she talks, the familiar gesture soothing us both. The sound of her childish stories almost makes me forget the heaviness in my chest where Claire's betrayal sits.

"And you know what?" she murmurs, already half-asleep. "The black kitten will still be there tomorrow. And the next day. and then... and then the orange one..." her words trail off as she slumps against my shoulder, sleep finally claims her.

I look down at her peaceful face, so innocent in the candlelight. Strange how my fierce little sister, who talks to things I can't see and knows truths she shouldn't, can still look so perfectly normal when she sleeps.

Carefully, I ease us both down and pull the blankets over us. "Thank you," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm thanking her for the comfort or for just being my sister through all of this.

But as I hold her close in the darkness, my mind keeps turning back to grandmother's journal. To all those careful notes about the rings of the Upside Down, about the whispers that keep getting stronger.

Claire might think she's protecting me, but she can't stop what's already started. The answers are out there, hidden in those twisted rings of reality.

And I'm going to find them.

Whether she helps me or not.