The Truth Beneath the Teeth

Charlie didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until the dream yanked her awake.

She stood in the forest, except the trees were wrong—too tall, too thin, bending like ribs around some massive unseen beast. The moon overhead pulsed like a heartbeat. Shadows dragged across the forest floor, alive, whispering.

You were chosen, a voice murmured.

Or cursed, another said.

Or both.

Charlie spun, but the dream forest didn't obey normal rules. Every turn led her back to the same clearing—a circle of stone, ancient and broken, claw marks etched into every surface. She knelt, brushing her fingers over the carvings. A symbol repeated everywhere: a spiral of teeth.

The mark from the prophecy.

The one Rivener kept evading questions about.

She pressed her fingers against the stone and felt heat flare beneath her skin. Her own energy, or the dream's—hard to tell. But something responded to her.

"No," Charlie whispered. "Not happening. This is dream nonsense. Zero stars. Would like to wake up now."

But so