Atlas opened his eyes to the smell of coffee and sheep shit.
The ceiling above him was the same cracked plaster from their old safehouse, but the wall to his left ended in open air that dropped straight into an endless library.
Shelves stretched into a hazy distance, books floating between them like they had somewhere better to be.
To his right, the kitchen counter now had a fully stocked Starbucks station. A barista machine hissed steam. A small chalkboard read "Today's Special: Existential Dread Blend."
Elara groaned next to him on the bed. "If this is heaven again, I'm burning it down."
"It's not," Atlas said. He sat up. The floorboards under his feet felt normal for three seconds, then shifted into soft grass.
Three tiny sheep looked up at him with mild confusion before going back to grazing on what used to be the rug.
Skritch's voice came from the next room. "This one's mine! Taxable! Come on, you glowing bastard, hold still—"
