The April Hare set down his calipers and crossed the tea house to where the two mystery machines waited in their corner. Steam rose from his cup on the workbench behind him. This morning's leaves had finally changed their pattern after years of the same gentle warning. The swirls spoke clearly now. One machine would open today. Outside, the metal basin sat where he'd poured the reading at dawn. Ice had already claimed the water's surface, locking the leaves in place. They formed a perfect circle with a single break pointing toward the tea house door. He'd checked it three times before believing it. His mentor's voice echoed in his memory: some doors only open when you are ready. The April Hare pulled his tools from his belt and knelt before the smaller of the two machines. His hands were steady. The first screw turned without resistance, and something inside clicked to life.