The red light came from roses.

  Thousands of them, lining the walls of a massive courtyard, each one glowing faintly red from within. The ground was paved with white and red tiles in a checkerboard pattern, and at the far end of the space stood another gate—smaller than the maze entrance, but somehow more imposing.

  And in the center of the courtyard, waiting for them, was a card.

  Not a numbered card. Not even an Ace. This one had a face—literally, a painted face on its flat surface, with a curled mustache and a jester's smile. The Jack of Hearts. And instead of a spear, it carried a massive axe, the blade gleaming with the same red light as the roses.

  "That's an executioner's axe," Jay whispered.

  "I noticed."

  The Jack didn't speak. It simply raised its axe and charged.

  Maggie met it head-on. The axe came down in a brutal overhead swing—she sidestepped, letting it crash into the tiles where she'd been standing. The stone cracked. This thing hit harder than anything they'd faced in the maze.

  She countered with a punch to its midsection. The Jack slid back a few feet but didn't crumple like the others. It recovered instantly, swinging the axe in a horizontal arc that forced her to duck.

  They traded blows. The Jack was fast—faster than it had any right to be—and strong enough that blocking its attacks directly was out of the question. Maggie had to stay mobile, weaving in and out, looking for openings that kept closing.

  Locke circled the edge of the courtyard, hackles raised, watching. Not intervening—not yet—but coiled like a spring, ready to move if they needed him.

  "Jay!" Maggie called between dodges. "Some help would be nice!"

  "Working on it!"

  A fireball streaked past her shoulder and exploded against the Jack's back. The card stumbled, scorch marks appearing on its surface.

  "Yes!" Jay pumped his fist. "Direct hit!"

  The Jack turned.

  Its painted eyes fixed on Jay with sudden, intense focus. It abandoned Maggie entirely and charged toward him, axe raised.

  "Oh shit—"

  Jay backpedaled frantically, firing another fireball. It hit the Jack's chest but barely slowed it down. The axe swung. Jay dove sideways, the blade missing him by inches, and scrambled to his feet.

  "It's targeting me now!"

  "I can see that!"

  Maggie sprinted after the Jack, trying to intercept. She grabbed at its arm, its shoulder, anything to stop it—but the card shook her off like she weighed nothing, singularly focused on reaching Jay.

  Another fireball. Another dodge from the Jack. It was learning his patterns, getting closer with each swing.

  "Fire bolt!" Jay thrust his staff forward. A concentrated beam of flame shot out, striking the Jack's leg. The card faltered for just a moment—

  Then kept coming.

  "I'm running low!" Jay's voice was strained. "Mana's almost—"

  The Jack's axe caught his robe, tearing through fabric. Jay yelped, stumbling backward.

  "Summon!" He raised his staff desperately. "Summon something, anything—"

  A flame sprite flickered into existence. It launched itself at the Jack's face, and for one hopeful moment, the card recoiled.

  Then it swatted the sprite away like an insect. The tiny fire creature dissipated into sparks.

  "That was my last summon," Jay gasped. "I'm empty. I've got nothing left."

  The Jack raised its axe.

  Maggie was still three steps away. Too far to reach him in time.

  She had to try something else.

  "Stop!" The word tore out of her throat. "STOP MOVING!"

  Nothing. The Jack's axe began its downward arc.

  "You have to fight ME. Leave him alone. Face ME!"

  Still nothing. The axe was halfway down.

  Why isn't it working?

  Locke barked—sharp, urgent. His eyes met hers across the courtyard.

  And suddenly she remembered. Mark's voice, back in the house, teaching her to create: Don't rush it. Really see it. How thick is the leather? Is it smooth or textured?

  The bracelet that had sunk into her skin because she hadn't defined its boundaries. Because she'd been vague.

  "Stop" was vague. "Face me" was a command, not a rule.

  The Dreamscape didn't respond to orders. It responded to clarity.

  "IF YOU WANT TO ATTACK HIM—" The words came rough, desperate, but specific. Conditional. A rule, not a wish. "—YOU MUST FIRST DEFEAT ME!"

  Something locked into place. A contract being signed. And beneath it—faint, almost imperceptible—a thread. Stretching between her and the Jack. Taut. Alive.

  The Jack's axe stopped. Inches from Jay's head, frozen in mid-swing.

  The card trembled. Its painted face contorted with something like confusion, like it was trying to understand why its body wouldn't obey. Slowly, jerkily, it turned away from Jay.

  And faced Maggie.

  "Holy shit," Jay breathed. "What did you do?"

  "I'm not sure." Maggie's hands wouldn't stop shaking. "Get back. Recover your mana. I'll hold it."

  The Jack charged her. But this time, Maggie was ready.

  She couldn't match its strength, but she didn't need to. She just needed to survive long enough for Jay to recover. The rule she'd declared—it bound the Jack. It couldn't touch Jay until it went through her first.

  The fight stretched on. Minutes that felt like hours. Maggie ducked under swings, rolled away from strikes, landed hits where she could—a punch to its arm, a kick to its knee—but mostly she stayed alive. Her shoulders burned. Her legs screamed. The Jack kept coming.

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  Behind her, Jay sat with his staff across his knees, eyes closed, pulling mana back into himself drop by painful drop. His face was pale with concentration.

  "Maggie—" His voice came weak. "I've got something. Not much."

  "Save it."

  More dodging. More near misses. The axe blade kissed her arm, drawing a thin line of blood that vanished almost instantly—the Dreamscape healing minor wounds. But it still hurt.

  "Okay—" Jay again, stronger this time. "Okay, I can do a fire bolt."

  "Not enough. Keep recovering."

  The Jack adapted. It stopped telegraphing, started feinting. Maggie took a hit to the shoulder that spun her sideways—not the axe blade, but the flat of it. Still enough to make her see stars.

  Locke growled, taking a step forward.

  "Stay," Maggie gasped. "Not yet."

  The dog held position. Barely.

  "Maggie!" Jay's voice was steadier now. "I've got a fireball. Real one."

  "Wait for my signal."

  She watched the Jack. Learned its patterns. Waited for the opening she knew would come—the big overhead swing it loved, the one that left its back exposed for just a second.

  There.

  The Jack wound up. Maggie dove under the axe, rolling past its legs, and screamed: "NOW!"

  "FIREBALL!"

  The blast hit the Jack dead center. The card staggered—but didn't fall.

  "Again!" Maggie scrambled to her feet. "Keep hitting it!"

  What followed was attrition. Jay throwing everything he had, recovering, throwing again. Maggie keeping the Jack's attention, drawing its attacks, buying time between each strike. They fell into a rhythm—a brutal, exhausting rhythm that left them both gasping.

  The Jack's surface was blackened now, covered in scorch marks and cracks. Its movements grew jerky, uncertain. But it kept coming.

  Until it didn't.

  For Jay's final attack—his sixth, maybe seventh, Maggie had lost count—he planted his feet, gripped the staff with both hands, and thrust it forward like a spear.

  "CRIMSON LOTUS: FINAL EXTINCTION!"

  The fireball that erupted was bigger than the others. Brighter. It caught the Jack square in the face. The card's painted features twisted in a silent scream as the cracks spread everywhere at once.

  Then it shattered. Not into confetti like the others—into actual pieces, like broken pottery, that dissolved into red mist before they hit the ground.

  Silence.

  Maggie stood there, breathing hard. Her arms ached. Her legs trembled. But they'd won.

  Jay collapsed onto his back, staring at the sky. "That was... that was insane. You stopped it. With words. You just... told it what to do and it listened."

  "Not exactly." Maggie looked at her hands. The feeling was fading now, but she could still sense it—the echo of the rule she'd declared. "I couldn't make it stop. I couldn't make it face me. But I could make it... conditional. Specific."

  "Like a rule in a game."

  "Like a law." The word felt right. "A rule it had to follow."

  Jay sat up slowly. "That's... that's broken. That's completely broken. Do you know how powerful that could be?"

  "I don't know how to control it yet. The first two times I tried, nothing happened."

  "But it worked when it mattered." Jay grinned, then winced as something in his back protested. "Gori, you might actually be useful."

  "Don't call me Gori."

  "You just saved my life. I'll call you whatever I want."

  Maggie tried to laugh. It came out as more of a wheeze—her shoulder reminded her it existed. "Fair enough."

  Locke trotted over, tongue lolling, and shoved his head under Maggie's hand. Then he moved to Jay, sniffing at the tear in his robe before settling between them with a satisfied huff.

  "Come on." Maggie offered Jay a hand. "Let's see what's on the other side."

  · · ·

  The smaller gate led to a garden.

  Not another maze—an actual garden, with neatly trimmed hedges and flowers that weren't glowing ominously. Fountains bubbled peacefully. Birds sang in trees that grew the right way up.

  And standing in the middle of it all, as if they'd been waiting, were Mark and Alice.

  "I knew it!" Jay pointed at them accusingly. "I knew you two were together!"

  Mark's expression didn't change. "We're not."

  "We absolutely are," Alice said with a mischievous smile. "We've been passionately reunited while you were in the maze."

  "Alice."

  "I'm joking." She winked at Jay. "Mostly."

  Mark walked toward them, looking them over with a critical eye. "I had to deal with some stories. Anyway, you're both still alive. That's better than I expected."

  "We killed a Jack," Jay announced proudly. "The Jack of Hearts. With an executioner's axe. It was terrifying."

  "I know."

  Maggie waited for more, but Mark just looked at her with something that might have been respect. "That power you used. I didn't expect that."

  "The rule thing?"

  "Declaration. You're imposing conditions on reality itself." He nodded slowly. "It's rare."

  "The first two times didn't work."

  "The first two were wishes. The third was a contract." He shrugged. "Big difference."

  "One more thing," Mark said. "Declarations bind you to this place. Every active rule is a thread connecting you to the Dreamscape. If you want to leave, you'll need to revoke them first."

  "Revoke them?"

  "Undo them. Same way you'd unmake something you created." He shrugged. "Just keep track of what you declare."

  Alice tilted her head, studying Maggie with an expression that was hard to read. "Declarations," she murmured. "I haven't seen someone use those in... a long time." Her smile flickered—still there, but something darker underneath. "They can be dangerous, you know. Rules cut both ways."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The thread connects you to them. But it also connects them to you." She let that hang for a moment. "Be careful who you bind yourself to."

  Mark turned to Jay. "And you. You ran out of mana and kept fighting anyway. Bought time for her to figure things out." A slight nod. "Good job."

  Jay straightened to his full height, which wasn't much, and adopted a pose that belonged on a manga cover. "Yes... Mark has finally recognized my power. Soon you will all grovel at my feet as I ascend to my rightful place as—"

  "Don't let it go to your head."

  "Too late! The Demon Lord Jayden accepts your tribute of praise!"

  Alice laughed. "I like him. He's entertaining."

  "He's exhausting," Maggie muttered, but she was smiling.

  Mark's expression grew more serious. "Now for what comes next. The Queen."

  The mood shifted. Even Jay stopped celebrating.

  "In the original story," Mark continued, "Alice declared that she wasn't afraid of the Queen. That the cards were nothing but playing cards. And it worked—nobody obeyed the Queen's orders. The executions never actually happened." He paused. "But this isn't the original story. The Queen has changed. She's more dangerous now. Her orders are followed. And she has guillotines."

  "Guillotines?" Jay's voice cracked. "Plural?"

  "She's fond of them."

  "So we can't just tell her she's not scary," Jay said.

  "No. You'll have to fight. Really fight." Mark looked at each of them in turn. "And there's a chance—a real chance—that you might get your heads cut off."

  Maggie forced her shoulders to relax. They didn't cooperate.

  "If that happens," Mark said, his voice steady, "close your eyes. Focus on your anchor. Nothing else. Just the anchor. I'll find you and put you back together. And I'll tell you when it's safe to open your eyes. Until then—don't look. Just focus."

  "Wait." Jay's voice was small. "We can survive getting our heads cut off?"

  "In the Dreamscape, death isn't always permanent," Alice said. Her voice had lost its playful edge. "But it's disorienting. Traumatic. If you panic, you might lose yourself."

  "Your anchor is what keeps you tethered," Mark added. "As long as you hold onto it, you can come back from almost anything."

  Maggie thought of her keychain. The cold metal against her wrist.

  "We'll be fine," she said, with more confidence than she felt.

  Mark studied her for a moment. Then nodded.

  "Before the Queen, there's the King. We should see him first."

  "The King of Hearts?" Jay frowned. "Is he dangerous?"

  "Only to himself, mostly." Mark started walking toward the castle. "But he might have useful information. Come on."

  They walked toward the castle. Its spires loomed overhead, red banners fluttering in a wind that Maggie couldn't feel. The doors were massive—carved with hearts and roses and what looked disturbingly like severed heads, their expressions frozen in various stages of surprise.

  Mark pushed open the doors.

  Inside, the castle was wrong.

  The corridor stretched ahead of them—then bent upward, continuing along the ceiling. Torches burned with red flame that cast shadows in the wrong direction. The floor was black and white checkered, and Maggie could have sworn the squares were slightly different sizes depending on where she looked.

  Paintings lined the walls—all of the Queen, in various poses of triumph and rage. But as they walked past, Maggie heard whispers. Two portraits were arguing in hushed voices about whether the frame on the left was more gilded than the frame on the right.

  "Shut up," Mark said without looking at them.

  The portraits fell silent.

  Card soldiers stood at attention along the walls, but they weren't guarding—they were sleeping standing up, snoring softly, their spears drooping. One of them muttered something about wanting more jam.

  Alice walked through it all with an expression of distant familiarity. Like returning to a childhood home that had been remodeled by someone with terrible taste.

  They turned a corner and found themselves in an antechamber. Smaller than the main halls, more intimate. A desk piled with papers that seemed to be reorganizing themselves when no one looked directly at them. Bookshelves lined the walls, some books shelved normally, others upside down or sideways, and one hovering two inches off its shelf as if it hadn't decided where to land.

  And sitting behind the desk, looking exhausted and worried, was a man.

  He was round-faced, with a small crown perched awkwardly on his head. His robes were red and gold, but rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for days. When he saw them enter, his eyes widened—first with fear, then with something else.

  The King of Hearts stood slowly.

  "Took you long enough." He turned to face Maggie and Jay directly, his expression grim. "I have some bad news for you."