The three points were horns.

Not a crown. Not a coded message from a raptor. Just a shape I should have recognised immediately.

I turned the Triceratops round and set it on the drawing. The marks fitted its head. Behind them, the curved line followed the edge of its frill.

It was easy to see armour. Easy to imagine a fight.

I tried another version. Colour across the frill. A signal visible before the animal was close enough to touch. Then another: a guardian that lowered its head to let smaller creatures pass.

Neither sketch proved anything about the real dinosaur. But the second changed the whole scene. The horns stopped being the centre of it.

The space between them did.

I traced that space onto a fresh page. Three points above an opening.

A doorway.

The notebook's smaller handwriting returned beneath it.

You keep looking at what can hurt you.

For a while I looked at the model without drawing. The lamps were off. The room was quiet. Nothing moved.

Then, beneath the doorway, I noticed a thin curled line. It had been there all along, almost lost inside the pencil shading.

It wasn't another horn. It was a tube.

Beside it were two words.

Listen next.