(Do not read)
Saphira dropped from the air, slithering into Verena's arms. "The fracture's stabilizing," she warned. "That's not good. They're locking in the new story."
Verena clenched her jaw. "So we stop it before it finishes loading."
"Like corrupting a save file?" Penelope asked, blinking.
"Exactly," Evelyn said, stepping beside Verena. "We interrupt the rewrite before it overwrites the original."
Beatrice frowned. "But where's the core of the rewrite? Where is the author, so to speak?"
That's when the ground rumbled.
No—the narrative rumbled.
The Old Wing cracked apart like crumbling paper. Beyond the shattered illusion of walls and corridors lay something even deeper—a blank page.
A void made of ink and possibility.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
"That's where they are," Verena said, voice low. "The Author."
Clarina unsheathed her blade. "Then let's give them an editor."
They stepped into the white void together.
