Night did not fade peacefully.
It collapsed.
One moment Mary was safe—curled against Marvin on the couch, his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, his arm draped protectively across her shoulders.
The next—
darkness swallowed everything.
No apartment.
No couch.
No warmth.
Just cold fog stretching endlessly in every direction.
Mary stood alone.
The air was damp and heavy, clinging to her skin like breath from something unseen.
Her violet magic flickered instinctively at her fingertips, reacting to the wrongness of the place.
"Great," she muttered under her breath. "Another dream."
But even as she said it, her stomach twisted.
Because this dream felt different.
Dreams bent around her.
This one felt like it had rules.
A slow clap echoed through the fog.
Sharp.
Mocking.
Mary didn't turn immediately.
She already knew that voice.
"Really?" she said flatly. "You're getting predictable, Uncle."
Uncle Malakor stepped from the mist like a blade slipping from its sheath.
Tall.
Immaculate.
His silver hair gleamed faintly in the dimness, and that familiar, cold smile curved his lips—the kind that made people nervous before they even understood why.
He circled her slowly.
"You survived," he said lightly. "How inconvenient."
Mary crossed her arms.
"You keep saying that like it's surprising."
Malakor chuckled softly.
"Oh, it is."
His gaze flicked over her like he was evaluating a weapon.
"You beat the prince."
Mary's chest tightened.
Kaelen.
The final trial.
The deaths.
Ninety-nine times.
She pushed the memories down before they could claw their way back up.
Malakor leaned closer.
"But the game didn't end."
Mary's eyes narrowed.
"What game?"
Malakor's smile widened.
"The one you think you just won."
Before she could respond—
the fog shifted.
Reality cracked.
Mary blinked.
And suddenly—
she was standing in her apartment.
The kitchen light glowed softly.
The couch was behind her.
The room looked normal.
Too normal.
Mary turned slowly.
"Marvin?"
No answer.
Her chest tightened.
She walked into the kitchen.
"Marvin?"
Still nothing.
The front door was slightly open.
Cold air slipped inside, brushing against her bare arms.
Something felt wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Then she saw it.
The stopwatch.
Sitting on the counter.
Ticking.
Loud.
Too loud.
Mary stepped closer.
The numbers spun faster than they ever had before.
201.
202.
203.
Her breath caught.
"That's… not possible."
The watch had always stopped at one hundred.
That had been the rule.
One hundred rewinds.
One hundred chances to break time and pull her back from death.
She had seen the exhaustion in Marvin every time he used it.
The way it drained him.
The way he pretended it didn't.
Mary's hand trembled as she reached for the watch.
And that's when she noticed the envelope.
Her name was written across the front.
Marvin's handwriting.
Messy.
Familiar.
Her heart began to pound.
"No."
Mary tore the envelope open.
Inside—
a single folded page.
She recognized the handwriting instantly.
⸻
Mary,
If you're reading this, then the clock started again.
Which means something went wrong.
Before you panic—breathe.
You're probably already blaming yourself.
You always do.
Don't.
I didn't leave because you failed.
I left because I knew you'd win.
You always do.
You've survived things that should have shattered you.
You've fought kings, princes, and fate itself—and somehow you still manage to look surprised when you come out alive.
So listen carefully.
This isn't the end of the story.
It's just the next chapter.
And you?
You're the most stubborn protagonist I've ever met.
You don't quit.
You don't break.
And you sure as hell don't lose.
So whatever happens next—
don't come looking for me like I'm something you need to save.
Come like the storm you are.
Because the person who took me?
They made the biggest mistake of their life.
They reminded me who I bet everything on.
You.
—Marvin
⸻
Mary's vision blurred.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
"You idiot," she whispered softly.
Not angry.
Not broken.
Just overwhelmed.
Because even when he was gone—
Marvin still believed in her.
A shadow moved behind her.
Mary froze.
Slowly—
she turned.
The darkness near the hallway thickened.
Stretching.
Rising.
Until it shaped itself into a man.
Tall.
Cloaked in something darker than the room itself.
His face hidden beneath a hood that seemed to swallow the light.
Mary's magic sparked instantly along her skin.
Violet lightning danced across her fingertips.
"You took him."
The figure tilted his head.
"Yes."
Rage ignited in her chest.
"You have exactly three seconds to give him back."
The figure chuckled quietly.
"You misunderstand the rules of this round."
Mary stepped forward.
The floor trembled beneath her.
"What rules?"
"The ones where you run out of time."
He gestured toward the stopwatch.
The numbers continued climbing.
204.
205.
206.
"You have ten days," the messenger said calmly.
Mary's jaw tightened.
"To do what?"
"To find him."
"And if I don't?"
The figure leaned closer.
"Then the boy who broke time for you dies first."
The words detonated inside her chest.
Magic exploded.
Not a flicker.
Not a warning.
A detonation.
Violet energy erupted from Mary like a storm breaking open.
The blast hit the messenger full force.
This time—
he didn't phase through it.
The power slammed into him.
He was thrown backward across the room, crashing violently into the wall as cracks spidered through the plaster.
The hood snapped back for a split second.
Silver eyes flashed in shock.
"Impossible—"
Mary's magic surged again.
The air shook.
The windows rattled.
"You don't get to threaten people I love," she said coldly.
The messenger struggled to stand, clearly wounded now.
Dark energy leaked from his shoulder where the magic had struck him.
He stared at her with something new in his expression.
Not amusement.
Fear.
"You weren't supposed to be able to hurt me in the dream realm."
Mary lifted her hand again.
Lightning gathered in her palm.
"Then you shouldn't have come."
The messenger stepped backward as the shadows began swallowing him again.
"This round will break you," he warned.
Mary's voice was steady.
"No."
The darkness pulled him away.
But before he vanished—
she spoke again.
"Tell whoever sent you something for me."
The messenger hesitated.
Mary's eyes glowed.
"They took the wrong hostage."
The dream shattered.
Mary jolted awake on the couch.
Heart racing.
The room was quiet.
Warm.
Normal.
Her head still rested on Marvin's chest.
His arm still around her.
He stirred slightly.
"…bad dream?" he mumbled sleepily.
Mary stared at the kitchen doorway.
The image of the stopwatch still burned in her mind.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt.
"Yeah," she whispered.
But deep down—
she knew.
Somewhere in the future—
that dream was waiting to become real.
And when it did—
Mary wouldn't hesitate.
Because Marvin had left her the one thing she needed most.
Not instructions.
Not protection.
Just belief.
And that?
That was more dangerous than any magic she possessed.