The fall had no bottom.
Dominic and Lena plunged through blackness so thick it burned their lungs, tasting of pulp and scorched paper. Their joined wrists blazed with the crooked ampersand, the only light in the abyss. Without it, they would have been nothing more than ink spilled into the dark.
Around them, the broken world tumbled. Oak branches twisted, roots dangling like frayed threads. Walls from the hall spun end over end. Voices—half-formed, unfinished—echoed past: a sob cut off mid-breath, a laugh stolen before it could end.
And pages. Endless pages. Blank, fluttering, descending with them like a blizzard of silence.
One slapped across Dominic’s chest. Letters crawled onto it as though seared by fire: OMINIC RAINE — ERASED. His breath hitched. The page tried to stick, binding t
