Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn
A pale shape pressed against it, then skated away.
The tide lapped higher against the supports, a constant, ugly heartbeat.
“Hey,” Jax said quietly as he matched my pace, shoulder almost brushing mine. “You still with us? You went all… Pale Writer back there when the ghost‑kid called you out.”
“I’m fine,” I said. It was instinct at this point.
He arched a brow.
“Okay, you’re not fine,” he said. “But you’re functioning. That works.” After a beat: “You get us out of this, first round of phantom funnel cakes is on me.”