“Please don’t leave me!” The girl’s grip on her arm tightened like a spider’s web, desperate voice edging toward panic. “Please! Please…” “It’s alright, you’ll be safe here.” She gently but firmly peeled the pale, clinging fingers from her sleeve and held the girl’s hands between her gloves. Her face was in the shadow of her hood, but her voice was compassionate and strong. “Stay at the campsite, don’t light the fire. I’ll be back before dawn.”  “They’ll come for me! They’ll

They didn’t pick the right Gren. I know that now. Mousse should’ve been the one to rise. Rumbaba had the grit and the mind. Mango could make the world weep and want to help. Hell, even Streusel could’ve browbeat death into retreat if you gave him two minutes and a podium. But not me. I was the wrong Gren. And I didn’t wake up. I got dragged back. When I hit the stones—face-first, ribs shattered, breath gone—the first vial on my belt cracked beneath me like a snapped tooth. I

Cold and dark. Poprock stood in the shadow of the manor. Or perhaps a memory of it. Translucent walls and doors not more than mist trailing into the void beyond. Some magic locked it in place, fighting against its nature to evaporate. And she was alone. No.  Not quite.  Figures drifted in the dark. A shadow in a sunbrimmed hat hummed softly as it wandered past. A large figure full of wrath charged past into the void. And darker things lurked beyond. Malice and hatred. But not