It was Elara who tested time. She left notes at dawn, at noon, at midnight. Only the midnight ones crossed.
It was Kieran who tested objects. Paper moved easily. Metal resisted, slipping back warped. Food spoiled instantly, as though the air on the other side rejected it.
Together, they discovered intent mattered. Objects sent with purpose arrived whole; careless gestures faltered. More curious still, the exchange felt strongest when they longed for it, when the sending was wrapped in thought, in desire.
"It's almost like the things want to move when we want them to," Elara wrote.
"Or when we need them," Kieran answered.
A strange tenderness bloomed in the rules they carved, as if the universe itself whispered its secrets only to them.