PORTSTEAD — GLASS HARBOR — NIGHT
Darkness hit the harbor like a dropped curtain.
Not natural dark.
Narrative dark.
The kind that didn't just remove light—it removed certainty.
Edges blurred.
Distances felt wrong.
And every sound arrived half a second too late, as if the world was lagging behind its own script.
Then the thing in the water stood up.
Pell was gone.
In his place was a body made of shredded pages, harbor brine, broken type, and all the endings that had failed to lock tonight.
It had too many arms.
Too many mouths.
Too many unfinished sentences moving beneath the skin.
Its face kept trying to become Pell's and failing.
The nearest ship snapped in half just from the force of it rising.
I drew my blade.
A hilariously useless instinct.
But instincts are what remain when reality starts malfunctioning.
Sera stepped to the front.
Mercedes moved with her.
