The grin appeared first. Alice had been watching the tea pour for what felt like hours — a stream of amber that never stopped, the cup already full, the saucer spilling over onto the tablecloth. The Hatter's wrist did not tire. His eyes did not blink. He poured and poured, and the March Hare laughed somewhere to her left, a sound like broken glass. Then the air above the table rippled. It began as a shimmer, a disturbance in the dim light, and then — a smile. Wide. Unmistakable. Floating without a face to hold it. Alice's breath caught. She had heard of this. The creatures at the pool had whispered about a cat that appeared and vanished like a thought you couldn't quite catch. She had not believed them. The grin expanded. Behind it, two yellow eyes blinked into existence, followed by the outline of a head, then a body draped in violet fur. The Cheshire Cat materialized as though the shadows themselves had decided to take shape. "You look confused," said the Cat. Its voice was velvet wrapped around a razor. Alice straightened. "I'm not confused. I'm watching." "Watching what?" She gestured at the Hatter, who had not paused. "Him. He never stops." The Cat's grin widened impossibly. "He can't. Time stopped for him, you see. It's always six o'clock. Always tea time. Always the same pour, the same cup, the same question." "What question?" The Cat's body began to fade again, starting at the tail. "Whether you'll join him — or find your own way out." Alice looked at the Hatter. His eyes met hers for the first time. He smiled — a sad, manic smile — and set the teapot down. "Welcome to Wonderland," he said. "Would you like some tea?" The cup was still full. The Cat was gone. And somewhere far above, Alice heard the tick of a watch that wasn't hers. She did not sit down. But she did not leave either. Not yet.