Luna stands before a door with three locks, holding only two keys. The faceless child has vanished, leaving her alone in an unfamiliar hallway that shifts and breathes around her. She tries the first key, then the second—both fit, but neither opens the door. The third lock is rusted, older than the others, and she has no key for it. Then the child's voice returns from somewhere nearby, offering a riddle: 'The third key is not a key at all.' Luna searches her pockets, her memories, the hallway itself. She finds a strip of film negatives in her coat, images of a woman who looks like her mother but younger, holding a baby. On the negative, the baby's face is crossed out. Luna realizes the third key is a memory—something she must remember to unlock the door. But as she tries to recall, the hallway darkens and the breathing from the closet in her childhood bedroom grows louder, closer. The door with three locks trembles, and Luna knows that what's on the other side has been waiting for her to forget.