She was a journalist before the Void took her husband. She's a better one now. Three months since the Liminal sealed with Damien inside it. Kora still sets out two mugs every morning. She's been told there's nothing to retrieve. She doesn't believe it. When a grief epidemic moves through Chicago-strangers waking at three in the morning with identical phrases on their lips, crowds syncing into shared sorrow on train platforms-her instincts divide: toward the story, and toward the certainty she won't release. The supernatural membrane is fracturing. If the Inversus is bleeding through, Damien still exists on the other side. Cyril has been at her door every week since the Void sealed. Warm meals. Careful reasons she should stop looking. He's the one with his hand on the dial. Every layer she strips back reveals something colder underneath-something that feeds on unresolved love, that knows exactly where to find her. Will she reach her husband before the fracture closes-or will trusting the wrong person cost her the only door left open?