Sabrina woke to the taste of soil.
Again.
The bedside lamp revealed Julian standing at the window, his bare back streaked with dirt, his fingers clawing at his own mouth. Black sap oozed between his teeth.
"Not again," Sabrina whispered, reaching for him.
Julian spun, his eyes wild, unseeing. "Have to feed her," he slurred, spitting out a baby tooth (not Lyra's—this one was decades old, yellowed with time).
Sabrina's stomach lurched. She'd found twelve teeth this month:
Six in Julian's boots
Three in the sugar jar
One nestled in her hairbrush
Two tucked under Lyra's pillow like gifts
Now Julian collapsed to his knees, his hands frantically digging at the floorboards. "Can't you hear her crying?"
Somewhere downstairs, Lyra hummed a lullaby.
The floor shivered in response.