Marie Donovan-Zhang was the queen of the afterlife. She was regal, and she knew secrets no one else did - which parts were unstable, where tore a rip in reality, or a viewing platform to Earth. How to deal with the hunger pains that come from a body that does not need to eat and a brain that thinks that means it’s dying all over again.

Marie was 19 when she died from carbon monoxide poisoning in 1976. She was no older than the others, the five of them who lived in this pocket of the universe, forgotten clearly by whatever was supposed to come after. She had never quite figured out why. They seemed to have very little in common. Abdul was 15, and drowned in a frozen lake in 1998. Sasha was 17, and they had overdosed, though Marie doesn’t quite believe them when they say it was accidental. That was 2016. Niamh is 16. Car crash. 2021.

From what Marie knows, they were all siblings. She had an older sister, Annaliese. Abdul had his twin, Fatima. Sasha had Ivan. And Niamh had Liam. All different birth order, though.

That leaves her greatest theory; near death experiences.

From one of her afterlife observatories, Marie had watched and monitored every one of the purgatory kids' siblings. There wasn't much to do in that realm, after all. It gave her something to fill the endless hours with.

Fatima, Abdul's sister, had been kidnapped and stored in a trailer freezer when their father was too poor to pay ransom. Police had only saved Fatima with minutes to spare.

Ivan also almost overdosed on heroin in the aftermath of Sasha's death. Only some supernatural force, like God, could have brought Ivan to his senses before he followed his sibling's mistake.

Niahm's younger brother, Liam, was playing with bottles of hand sanitizer while the babysitter was using the bathroom. He was only 2. A hasty call to poison control prevented Liam from prematurely ending his own life.

Annaliese was different. Marie didn't know what her sister's near-death experience could have been. That is why this was only a theory, after all. Her older sister was very careful, unlike Ivan or Liam. She could have only been exposed to danger by another force, as in Fatima's case. Marie's devotion to watching Annaliese never provided Marie with any knowledge that would solve this case.

Marie often walked the edges of the pocket universe, where reality thinned to fragile threads, and the air felt like smoke frozen mid-motion. She had named this place the Threshold of Echoes because here, the memories of the living pressed closest to her world. From this vantage, she could watch faint flickers of the siblings’ lives—shadows of laughter, arguments, and moments that never made it into her observatories.

Today, she focused on Annaliese. Unlike the others’ siblings, there was no brush with immediate danger, no near-miss to track. Annaliese moved carefully, silently calculating. Marie could see her shadow in her apartment, the meticulous way she arranged groceries, the cautious turns at crosswalks. Yet Marie felt the pull of inevitability: the universe, or whatever force governed it, would not let these threads remain untested. Abdul’s twin, Fatima, appeared faintly in the echoes. The image was static at first—her eyes wide with terror as the memory of the freezer faded in and out—but Marie watched her pulse through the afterlife, alive and unbroken. Sasha’s brother Ivan flickered next, eyes red, trembling hands hovering over empty bottles. Liam waved at a bottle of sanitizer with a toddler’s curiosity, almost laughing at his own mischief.

Each survived because some fragile, unseen force corrected the course of their lives. Marie still did not understand how.

And yet, the threads were tangled. Sometimes, she could see glimpses of her own past, back in 1976. The ringing in her ears, the sudden dizziness, the last moments of being alive. The Threshold of Echoes hummed around her.

She watched Fatima first. Abdul’s twin moved through a crowded university campus, laughter spilling from her lips as she met friends outside the library. She wore a scarf that fluttered in the wind, a bright green that made her stand out in the gray of winter coats. Marie noted the way Fatima’s shoulders relaxed, the natural ease of someone who had survived what should have broken her.

Ivan came next. Sasha’s brother. Marie saw him in his apartment, cooking a simple dinner, music playing softly in the background. He smiled genuinely at the sight of his cat, dangling a feather off the counter for her to bat at. Marie felt a pang, sharp and bitter—he had cheated fate, and yet he didn’t know she was watching, guarding, counting every heartbeat like a prayer.

Then Liam, Niamh’s brother, appeared. A teenager now, taller than Marie expected, with messy hair and a skateboard clattering down the driveway. He waved at a neighbor’s dog and laughed at the bark that startled him, entirely alive in ways she had never imagined. Every tiny misstep he avoided, every choice he made, was a victory she could see but never touch.

And finally, Annaliese. Marie’s own sister. She moved through the city streets, purposeful and cautious, crossing intersections with precise timing, carrying groceries home, humming a soft tune that Marie recognized from their childhood. No danger had touched her yet. Marie studied her every movement, every pattern, as if memorizing a sacred map she might never traverse herself.

Watching them, Marie felt the strange ache of separation—the joy of their lives filtered through a pane of glass she could never break. They laughed, argued, played, made mistakes and learned, but always survived. The force that had preserved them kept their threads strong, untouchable, and yet Marie felt a tremor of hope.

Then she noticed something new. A faint shimmer along the edge of reality, near one of the older observatories she had abandoned. It pulsed, irregular and insistent. Not a tear, not a rip, but… an invitation. Or a warning. Marie could feel the pull in her mind, the subtle tug of something trying to bridge the pocket universe with the living world. She hesitated. Crossing it might change everything: the other purgatory kids, their siblings, her own place as queen of this forgotten corner. But she had learned, after decades of watching, that the universe had little patience for hesitation.

Marie stepped closer.

The Threshold of Echoes whispered.