The page wanted a trade.
Titles fluttered like caught birds above Lena’s head—Bride, Witness, Replacement—while the slit in the spine yawned wider, showing the other girl: skin river-cold, hair crisped, crown never-lit, quills unbroken. She mouthed the single, aching word again:
Switch.
Lena’s name, newly seated inside her ribs, trembled as if it, too, had heard its echo and felt obligated to obey.
“Don’t,” Dominic said. Not a command—a plea. His blade held a clause open like a door that refused to be polite.
The voice from the crease warmed with administrative patience.
—Draft One occupies the role. Draft Two relinquishes. Continuity improves.
Mireya spat. “Continuity kills.”
Kael’s shadow whipped the air, tasting currents. “He’s pulling on symmetry—two Lenas, one slot. Clean math
