She was right. It felt like coming home to a warm fire, with a family, and a nice bowl of porridge with bananas and brown sugar waiting--or sugar cereal, even better. Or, it was how he always imagined that sensation in the stories he read. Shitty, juvenile stories about people who get lost in the woods and stuff, and manage to find their way home after a hard journey. A guilty pleasure, and he knew Mia read those stories, too.

"So, uh..." He gulped, and peeked down at his sis. "Wanna open it?"

"You want me to do it?"

"You're better at this sorta stuff."

"What?" she asked. "Opening doors?"...