"Let's take five."
Zara collapsed onto the floor against the wall, chest heaving. She was pale, her side blooming fresh blood despite the pressure she'd been applying.
Winter crouched beside her immediately and tore at the hem of his undershirt. "Leo," he said gently, brushing the boy's hair back from his damp forehead, "you remember that trick you do sometimes? Where you think about something really hard, and then it pops out of your space?"
Leo nodded hesitantly.
"I need you to think about a box. A small one. Plastic. White or gray, with a red cross on the front. It might rattle a little when you shake it, like pills and bandages inside."
Leo scrunched up his nose, then closed his eyes tightly.
A few seconds passed.
Then—with a soft pop—a small white box appeared on the floor beside him.
"That the one?" he asked, eyes wide.
Winter blinked, then grinned. "That's exactly the one."
He ruffled Leo's hair. "You're a smart, good boy, Leo. That was perfect."
