But the crack was gone from the lid. And when Melanie looked up, Pandora was standing closer. Much closer. Her eyes weren’t gray anymore. They were the same silver as the box, and they were Melanie’s eyes—her shape, her color, her flecks of gold around the pupil.

“Call it what?”

Inside: nothing. Just black velvet and the smell of rain.

And Melanie had just turned the key.