Salem Grey landed in a landscape that felt both familiar and completely alien. The ground beneath him rippled like liquid glass, reflecting fragmented skies overhead—blue, gray, and faint green, as if multiple versions of the same morning were stacked on top of each other.
He staggered to his feet, brushing off invisible dust. His journal, which had been resting safely in his backpack, vibrated violently. Pages flipped open on their own, scrawled handwriting leaping from line to line: “Remember. Every skip matters. Every fragment echoes.”
> “Ah, the dramatic reminders,” the Writer’s voice chimed, sneaking in from nowhere and everywhere. “Nothing like a little existential dread to start the chapter.”
Salem scowled. “Seriously, Writer, can you just… let me exist for five minutes withou
