When Trix gets back, bag in hand, I’m still sitting on the floor. I don’t know what to make of this. I don’t know what to say.


    No, actually, I do know what to say.


    I look up at Trix, and she looks down at me. “Do you think we’re in the Matrix?”


    “No,” she says immediately. “I don’t think we have the technology.” She hands the bag to me. “Here’s your book.”


    She sits down next to me on the floor, studying me. I must look pretty shaken because she takes my hand in hers. Her short nails are painted a light pink with black lines and symbols all across them. They suit her. But mostly I notice how warm and soft her hand is. I lean my head down on her shoulder, squeezing her hand gently.


    “You’re strange, you know that, bunny?”


    I nod. “Yeah.”


    She rests her head on top of mine. “You sure you’re okay?”


    I shake my head slightly. “No. I’m not sure.”


    “What’s going on? Tell me.”


    I sigh. “Things are getting weird, man. Really fucking weird.”


    The sound of her chuckling softly reverberates from her body to mine as she wraps her arms around me. “Things were already weird for you.” It’s true.


    “Will you spend the day with me? Do you have time?”


    I feel her shrug around me. “I’m free until my shift at the bar. That’s not for hours. I can hang.”


    “Really?”


    “Really.”


    “Really, really?”


    She laughs. “You’re being irritating now.”


    “So now I’m strange and irritating?” I nuzzle against her. She’s so soft and warm and . . . “Why do you like me anyway?”


    “I don’t know,” she sighs into my hair. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”


    “Oh?”


    “Hot.”


    “O-oh.” My choked laugh turns into a coughing fit. “Thank you?”


    She laughs and pats my back gently until I stop coughing.


    “You know, patting someone’s back when they’re coughing just makes it worse.”


    She ignores me and takes the book out of the bag, placing it in my hands. Her fingers brush against mine, and everything feels so simple. Trix likes me. She thinks I’m hot. We could be together. I could get a job in marketing, live a life in the real world, move on from coffee and dragons and fictional men. Be an actual person and grow the fuck up. I look down at the book. The Final Tale.


    I’m not sure I can do it.


    “You want me to distract you for a bit?” she asks in a low voice. When I look up at her, I’m met with a sneaky grin and her fingers trailing slowly up my arm.


    Fuck yeah, I do. I respond by taking off my shirt, which makes her laugh, her hand traveling higher, to my shoulder, and then down . . .


    “Enthusiastic verbal consent, please,” she whispers in my ear, her hand lingering, waiting for the go ahead. I can hear the smile in her voice, and I let out a shuddering sigh as I lean into her touch.


    “Yes.”


    I lay back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. Trix fell asleep next to me; guess that’s what working nights does to a person. Plus all the work she just did. I lean my cheek against her short tight curls and try to stay in the present. But I can’t. Not really.


    Seed value. That’s all I can think about. The Final Tale is on the floor out there, its last page begging to be read, to offer me relief, to save me from a future of being burnt to a crisp, and all I can think about is seed value.


    So I Google it, and Jesus fucking Christ, am I in over my head. Python. Video games. It’s a number tied to a certain outcome—a pseudo-randomly generated value. I feel stupid. I don’t know what this means for me, for the book. All I’m getting from this is that people use it when coding, which I don’t know how to do, so I’m just cluelessly reading through Reddit threads as if it’ll suddenly make sense to me.


    From what I do understand, which is very little, the simplest answer seems to be that Alistria Okuta is the seed value. Because the book said the seed value is missing, and she didn’t exist. If we take “missing” and “not existing” to mean the same thing, then: if A (the seed value) is B (missing) and C (Alistria Okuta) is B (missing), then A (the seed value) is C (Alistria Okuta)—right?


    But . . . how would the current outcome of the book cause her to cease to exist? Because Eliana dies? Why does that matter? Is it because she’s the main character?


    Man, fuck this. I crawl over Trix, careful not to wake her, and pad over to the book on the ground. I pick it up and stare at the cover.


    I’m getting tired. I can’t risk falling asleep before at least reading the ending. That’s what I should do, or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself I should do. Martin will be so disappointed in me. But . . . could he understand my reasons too? I think he could. He’s a smart guy. I think about Leon, his warm smile, his dimples. I even think about Peter, always brimming with anger but never giving in and overflowing. They all feel so real. As real as me, however real that is.


    What if this is all just a simulation? One I can’t remember entering, but when I exit, I’ll understand everything completely. What if I, too, am just a character in a book in a whole other world, considered “not real,” thought of as fiction? At what point does reality start? Is it with my experience? Is it because I can feel myself breathing, because I can feel hungry, because I’m tired and want to sleep?


    Am I really giving up the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me?


    Then the memories of pain return, of the feeling of my lungs burning, my tongue burning, my hair, my face, my skin burning, and I open the book. My eyes fall on the dedication:


    To all those who have loved these characters as if they are real. They are real because you believe in them. Thank you.


    My hands tremble slightly. I take the book with me to the couch and lay back on it. A yawn hits me. It’s now or never. I’m deciding my fate. I have to.


    I wait for a while. I wait until I feel my eyes fluttering shut. To the very end of the wire. Then I open the book to the last page and read it:


    When I took Peter’s hands in mine, there was one thing I felt I now knew for certain. Perhaps we were fated to be, or perhaps not. I was not sure which was true, but I felt entirely confident that it had never really mattered. In some small, not insignificant way, I had always been his.


    Wait . . . Eliana . . . ? I didn’t think about that. I didn’t think it through. I’m an idiot! The first book now ended in an error, so what could the other two have been? They should have been more errors. This was never going to work. Eliana is dead. Why is Eliana alive in this book? I’ve misunderstood everything. I’ve . . .


    Fallen asleep.


    The roar of the fire, the heat of it, fills my body with that impossible feeling of discomfort—the feeling of a terrible and violent end. My body struggles to breathe, I struggle to breathe, and it feels like my lungs are full of heavy, hot lava. I can’t tell if my eyes are open or not. If they are, I still can’t see anything but blackness and sparkling stars. I’m losing consciousness, I realize. No, I’m . . . dying.


    “I am so sorry, madam,” I hear a small voice say, quiet amidst the noise of flames. “I only just realized.” Even as I feel myself fading, my ears strain to listen to the soft, soothing voice of . . . whoever this is. Someone I think I know. Someone . . . help me.


    “I have to do everything around here,” a different voice replies. “I can’t stick around. Make sure she doesn’t die. Can you do that?” I don’t recognize this voice, but I can tell they’re both women.


    Women . . . I don’t know many women in Alvione.


    “Yes, madam.”


    “I can’t come back and risk the dragon following. You understand?”


    “Yes, madam.”


    “How long has she been out?”


    “I am unsure. Her blackouts have been getting longer. I suspect it’s been maybe twenty minutes, madam.”


    “You should’ve kept a better eye on her. You’re lucky I was here. The floor might have collapsed.”


    “I . . . Sorry. I’m sorry, madam.”


    “I’ll lead it away. Do not fail me, child. This is all that matters. Tell me you understand.”


    “I understand.”This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    “Lead her to me.”


    “She is already on the right path, madam.”


    “Then speed up the process. Or what use are you anyway?”


    “Yes, madam.”


    And then it’s quiet. Far away, I can feel my body moving, being dragged across a hot, dry, crumbling floor. Someone is mumbling. The mumbling becomes clearer, closer, and my lungs become stronger. I can breathe? Can I . . . see?


    My vision begins to clear. I’m alone, tangled in partially scorched vines that move around me, that nip at my skin and drag me, pulling me down from the second story of the castle and all the way to the ground. The view on the way down is nauseating, but I’m too weak to feel sick over it. My body seems to still be healing itself, though, as my vision returns completely and the heat from my body seems to disappear. It’s surreal, unnatural. Magic.


    I’m so lucky I live in a world with magic.


    On the ground below stands Miri, her hands lifted to the sky and face contorted in a look of terror as she seemingly controls the plants that are pulling me down to the earth below. The garden around us still burns, but most of the bushes have been blackened so completely that there’s nothing left for the fire to devour.


    “Miri?” I manage to gasp. It doesn’t burn to talk, doesn’t hurt like that anymore, though the skin of my face feels taut and crackles painfully as her name leaves my lips. She finally manages to bring me to the ground with an unceremonious thump.


    “My apologies, Your Majesty,” she whispers, her fingers shaking slightly as she releases the vines from her hold and they release me from theirs.


    “Who were you talking to?” I ask groggily, looking up at her from where I’m collapsed on the ground. As I start to sit up, I notice my gown is entirely burned away, leaving me in nothing but a torn slip of some kind.


    She tilts her head at me in confusion. “What are you talking about?”


    Was that not . . . her? But then who . . .


    She bows deeply then scrambles to help me up. Her big eyes, wide with fear, bore into mine. “I apologize for not telling you of my magic,” she whispers urgently, but her concern about me giving a single shit about her powers is deeply misplaced. “I was afraid I would not be trusted if such truths were known.”


    “I don’t care about that, Miri,” I murmur as I lean weakly onto her small frame. She stumbles along with me, leading me away from the burning castle. “The dragon . . . ?”


    She shakes her head. “It flew away. I heard its roars coming from the far north. However, the fire it left still rages. The guards are working their way through each room with buckets of water from the well and moat, but it is a slow process. You are so very blessed to have survived this long from within and luckier still that I saw your collapsed form by the broken window.”


    But . . . I wasn’t by the window. Those two women . . . They did something to me.


    “Your voice is clear. How did you avoid breathing in the smoke?” Miri asks worriedly. I continue to stumble along beside her as we near a clearing where panicked and soot-covered people are laid out on the ground, others wailing and screaming the names of people still lost inside.


    Was Miri . . . not the one who healed me?


    “I . . . I didn’t,” I say finally. I let go of Miri as I feel I can walk on my own. My body is healing rapidly, from the inside out it seems, and all that’s left is exhaustion and muscle tension. Who were those women?


    Before I can say more, I see Peter, and he sees the two of us. A look of surprise crosses his face and then quickly transforms into an icy coldness that muddles my already muddled brain even further. His eyes are locked on Miri, who’s stopped dead in her tracks beside me at the sight of him.


    “You!” Peter growls. He approaches us swiftly and grabs Miri by the collar of her dress, pulling her close and staring into her eyes with a viciousness I’ve never seen from him before.


    “Hey!” I gasp. “What are you doing? She rescued me.” I try to grab her hand, but Peter swings her out of my reach like she’s a ragdoll. I feel weak, unbalanced, still healing, I guess.


    “She had her ear pressed to your door. I caught her, and I was about to wring answers out of her when the dragon attacked.”


    “She . . . what?” My gaze travels from Peter to Miri and back again. I don’t have time to deal with this. I need to find Martin. I need to find those women. But I also can’t leave Miri here with an enraged Peter.


    “I was just curious,” Miri gasps, grabbing onto Peter’s hand to steady herself as he holds her up in the air. “Please believe me!”


    “Curious?” Peter laughs bitterly, his grip on her only tightening. “Who do you work for? My father?”


    I’m so confused all I can do is reach for Peter’s free hand. He lets me latch onto him but otherwise ignores me completely. “Please let her down,” I manage to say, swaying pathetically. “You’re being paranoid.”


    Peter turns to me, an offended, angry expression twisting his face into a hateful snarl. “There is no such thing as being paranoid when you have royal blood. Maids are common spies, and she knows your secret now. Is it a coincidence then that a dragon should appear? I’m not sure I believe in coincidences like that.” He turns back to Miri, sneering meanly at her. “You know too much. Don’t you, weasel?”


    Miri’s eyes are wide like saucers. “I don’t know much at all!” she insists, still scrabbling at Peter’s hand. “Please! Let us speak about this like civilized people. Let me reassure you.” She tries to turn toward me, but Peters’s hold on her is firm. “Please believe me, Rose. I am a friend!” Rose. So she was listening. To what, exactly? I try to remember what was happening before the dragon attack. My room . . . When Martin and I were talking about Alvione’s legal system? She must have been bored out of her mind, spying on that conversation.


    This new development doesn’t really matter to me. Peter, on the other hand, is pissed. And the sound of my real name leaving her lips seems to infuriate him even more. “You are no friend of mine. Now, tell me who you serve.”


    “No one! No one but the queen of Alvione!” Peter gives me a look like Can you believe this bitch? which I do not return.


    Then a wave of dizziness hits me. From the fire? The healing? I’m not sure. Either way, I find myself clinging onto Peter for balance now. I need water . . . I need something. I feel weird . . .


    “Peter,” I pant, as my head spins. “Not now . . . she saved me.”


    “Trying to glean favor, no doubt,” he growls, his grip not loosening. “And how did this pitiful little creature ‘save’ you?”


    “She was, like, controlling the plants—”


    “I’m a hedgewitch, all right!?” Miri squeaks. “A secret for a secret. I serve only you, Rose, I promise!”


    Peter just grins at her wickedly, showing no signs of releasing her. “A witch, hm? Maybe you don’t spy for Ward then, but whom? Enlighten us, or I’ll start breaking fingers.”


    Martin’s arrival startles us all. He teleports in a few feet away, stumbling and coughing, the caravan elves hanging onto him with trembling hands. He takes in the scene of us squabbling, and when his eyes land on me, his face is filled with palpable relief.


    Which quickly gives way to anger.


    “Where were you? I searched everywhere,” he snaps. There’s a thin layer of ash running up his hands and painting his face in dark streaks. His clothes are burnt like mine, but not as badly.


    “Miri saved me,” I manage to say, pointing at her, still being held up by Peter like a cat grabbed by its scruff. “She’s a witch.”


    Martin’s brows lower in confusion, his eyes shooting from Miri to me. Then he approaches me, leaving the elves behind, and cups my face. For a confusing split second, I think he’s about to kiss me, and I stiffen, but he just inspects my face. “Then she’ll be able to help with this.”


    I don’t have time to worry about my face. “The fire . . .” I glance over at Peter. “Let her down. Seriously. We have more important things to worry about.”


    His eyes travel to the burning castle. Most of the wood on the outside is gone now, the flags burned down to dust, but the stony skeleton remains. Through the windows, I can see the fire still raging inside. Coughing guards, their clothing blackened and torn, go in and out with buckets that are far too small to save much of anything here. “Fine,” Peter finally relents, dropping Miri, who hits the ground with a thump. He squares his shoulders and starts heading back into the building.


    “Wait—” I gasp.


    He glances back at me and gives me a cold look. “Stay here.”


    Obviously! “Don’t be a hero,” I call out, but I make no move to stop him. I realize that I don’t want him to burn, and I don''t want to control him either.


    “I never am,” he mutters, then disappears back inside.


    I grab Martin''s arm, turning to him. His mouth drops open in surprise. “Don’t go back in,” I say, my quiet tone barely carrying over the sound of the roaring flames. “I can’t lose you.” I keep a firm grip on him. I’m not sure how teleporting works, but I’m hoping he can’t do it without taking me too as long as I’m holding onto him.


    He just nods, but there’s a softness in his eyes that I don’t often see. Then I’m distracted by the feeling of a cold salve being applied to my skin and Miri’s tiny hands in my face. Martin and I both jump at the intrusion.


    “My apologies,” Miri murmurs. “These things should be applied immediately.” Martin takes a step back, though I keep a tight hold on his wrist as she works. She rubs the grease into my cheek, lip, and neck with surprising aggressiveness—though it somehow doesn’t hurt. I guess you really gotta rub this shit in or something because she’s halfway to giving me a facial massage with it. She looks totally frazzled too—ashy, a bit of her hair burnt. “It’s a general salve for most injuries. I’m hoping it will work well for burns, though I cannot be sure.” She dips her fingers back into the little jar she’s procured and applies a second coat.


    “You just keep that on you?” I manage to say as she seemingly rearranges my face with her fingers.


    “I’m very clumsy” is all she says back.


    “You were in there for nearly half an hour,” Martin murmurs. “But your wounds seem to only be external. How?”


    My eyes flick over to him as I try to stay still for Miri. “We’ll talk about this later.” But then I remember that Miri already knows a ton about the situation, and I decide to speak frankly. If she was one of the two women, none of this will be news to her anyway. “Actually . . . I’ll tell you now.”


    I recount the conversation I’d overheard in my half-dead state, trying as best I can to remember what was said and how the voices had sounded. It’s all so jumbled in my head now, that I’m not sure I’m recounting it with any accuracy. Miri and Martin listen with rapt attention and don’t interrupt. Miri even pauses in her application of the salve. When I’m done, Martin just shakes his head. “Hard to know what to make of that.”


    “Helpful,” I say dryly.


    He glares at me. “There’s no time for this. We need to douse the fire, find the remaining people trapped inside, rebuild, ask our allies for assistance . . .”


    “You’re not going back in there,” I gasp, gripping his arm as tightly as I can. He gives me a bewildered look. You can’t die in there. You can’t die on me. I need you alive. He seems to know what I’m thinking, or guesses it, because he stops fighting and pulls me into a hug. I blink, the feeling of being wrapped in his arms both comforting and dizzying.


    “I’ll stay,” he promises. “All right?”


    “Thank you,” I whisper back. When I pull back from the hug, Miri is scratching her head awkwardly, looking away from us. Jeez, Miri, it’s not like that.


    My brain’s so muddled from all that’s gone on, I almost forget what I tried to do. That I tried to end this story early. But it’s hard to feel guilty when all I can think about is why it didn’t work. Why The Final Tale didn’t seem to have changed the way The Tales of Alvione had. Why it was still exactly the same. Why I didn’t burn to death like Eliana would have, despite not doing anything special. Why I got lucky when she didn’t. Why all of this seems to be making less and less sense.


    I am not some “chosen one.” I can’t be. Because that would be stupid, right?


    Miri puts the bottle of salve in my hands, pulling me from more confusing thoughts. “You need it more than I,” she says softly.


    Martin digs around in his pockets and pulls out a small mirror. “Here.”


    I raise an eyebrow at him but accept it. “You guys have mirrors?”


    “What is that supposed to mean?” he says in a low, annoyed tone. “All fire mages know how to make mirrors. It’s how many of us earn our keep, you know.”


    I roll my eyes and hold up the mirror to inspect myself.


    Fuck. I nearly drop the thing; no, I grip it tighter.


    I don’t know what I expected Eliana to look like, but when I read The Tales of Alvione, I pictured a generic white girl with brown hair. A fully white girl. But that’s not what I see.


    I see me.