With this strange, exhilarating power humming through your veins, the world feels like soft clay in your hands. You could shape it however you wanted. Bend it. Break it. Rewrite it. You could even go home—at least, you think you could. The idea only occurs to you now, a half‑formed theory floating at the edge of your mind. You haven't tested it. Not yet.
For now, you focus.
You raise an invisible protective shield around yourself, a thin shimmer of force settling over your skin like warm static. Just in case. You creep forward, slow and silent, toward Bradley and Trida. Their backs are turned, both wolves focused on the bubbling cauldron. The air smells sharp and metallic, thick with magic.
Across the room, Therley's eyes snap open. Wide. Alert. Terrified. He watches you like you've lost your mind. Like you're the unpredictable one now.
A strange thought flickers through your head.
Characters in a children's book shouldn't act like this.
The Big Book of Stories was supposed to be harmless—a collection of simple tales you picked up out of boredom. Nothing in it ever hinted at wolves with trauma, black magic, or rituals involving hair and cauldrons. Nothing about characters who look at you with such raw fear and awareness.
What are they?
What is this world?
Are you overthinking it… or not thinking nearly enough?
You push the questions aside. You have control now. You can act.
You imagine a cowboy's lasso—thick rope, sturdy, obedient to your will. It materializes in your hand with a soft snap of displaced air.
You snatch it from the air and whip it forward, the rope coiling around both wolves' necks in a single motion.
It tightens.
But you're too late.
No, you aren't able to react to this—