The pale light ahead swelled as they approached, spilling over the jagged edges of the trees like water through a broken dam. Elena's lungs burned from the pace Marcus was keeping, but every time she thought about asking him to slow down, the memory of that rattling behind them clawed her forward.
The forest floor tilted upward, roots clawing at their boots. Marcus's hand stayed clamped around her wrist, his grip unyielding but steady, as though letting go was never an option. The glow grew sharper now, no longer diffused like moonlight. It pulsed faintly, steadily like the beat of a massive heart.
When they crested the ridge, she saw it.
A door.
It shouldn't have been there not in the middle of the forest, not wedged into the base of a hill like some forgotten cellar. The wood looked ancient, bleached pale by time, but the brass handle gleamed as though it had been polished that morning. Around it, the earth sagged inward in a perfect oval, like the ground itself had bent to hold it in place.
"What is this?" Elena breathed.
Marcus didn't answer. He approached the door and placed his palm flat against it. The wood shivered under his touch, as though it recognized him.
"Through here," he said.
She stared. "Marcus, there's no building. There's no… inside. Where does it go?"
He looked at her then, and his eyes were unreadable. "Not where. When."
Before she could demand an explanation, the rattling behind them surged, echoing off the trees like dry bones tumbling in a drum. The air grew colder in an instant, her breath puffing white.
Marcus turned the handle. The door swung inward, revealing not darkness, but a blinding wash of white that seemed to stretch infinitely in every direction.
The sound behind them was closer now too close.
Marcus didn't wait for her to decide. He yanked her through, and as the light swallowed them whole, Elena swore she felt something brush her ankle thin, jointed, and cold.
The door slammed shut.