In the winter of 2009, Luna's car broke down on a gravel road cutting through Harker's Wood, a stretch of second-growth forest in northern Pennsylvania with no cell service and no houses for fifteen miles. She walked until she found a house set back from the road, with a light in the nursery window and a woman named Lorna who invited her in to wait for a tow truck. But the nursery was wrong — the crib was not a crib, and the lullaby coming from the old radio in the corner was playing a version Lorna had never heard before, in a language she could not name. When Luna asked whose room it was, the woman said, 'It will be hers. When she comes back. She's been gone awhile.' That was when Luna noticed the way the static in the radio seemed to breathe, and the way the rocking chair beside the crib moved on its own, just slightly, as though someone had just gotten up. A quiet, lingering story about waiting, about loss, and about what happens when a lullaby becomes a summons.