Rue is a skeleton cat, and she guards the only person who ever wanted her. Tonight she lies on the black sand beside Nephthys, watching the stars, because soon the stars will fall. When they fall, every restless spirit on this island will wake. Rue knows this the way she knows cold. She will not let one touch Nephthys. The sand sifts into the gaps between her bones and holds her still. It is warm here, near the dark water. Beside her, Nephthys marks the sky with her telescope, tracking a star that dipped and then climbed again. Stars do not do that. Nephthys said so, plainly, the night they met on this beach. Rue was already waiting for her then. Rue purrs, a dry rattle. The rug beneath them shows a gold star chart, and Nephthys checks it against the real sky. She trusts Rue's silence as much as her hiss. So Rue keeps watch on the water and the sand and the black above. Then the air changes. Near the waterline, the light thins. It bends toward one spot and does not come back, as if something drinks it before it reaches Rue's eyes. She has felt this before, but never this strong. A shape rises from the dark tide. It wears a pharaoh's headdress and a face like polished stone. Where its chest should be, there is a hole full of stars, and no light escapes it. Rue is on her feet. She hisses, loud and long, tail rigid. Nephthys turns at once. She does not ask why. She follows Rue's stare to the waterline and goes still. "I see it," she says. "I don't see it. But I know it's there." The void spirit drifts closer. Sand does not shift under it. It has no feet. Its long dark arms trail like smoke across the black glitter. Rue steps between it and Nephthys, small bones planted in the sand. The spirit stops. It looks at Rue, then at the sky. It lifts one hand and points upward. High above, a single star brightens, then slips loose and streaks down. It strikes the far dunes with a soft flash of yellow. The spirit sinks back into the water and is gone. The air fills with light again. Nephthys grips her telescope. "That star fell," she says. "On purpose. It was showing us." Rue does not relax. One spirit came, and one star fell. She understands now what she only feared before. The falling has begun, and the spirits answer it. There will be more of both, all night. Rue turns from the water and faces the whole dark island. Every warm gap in her bones has gone cold. She will not sleep. She will not leave Nephthys's side. She plants herself in the sand and waits for the next thin place in the light.