Henry’s stomach twisted. "What?" A long pause.

  Then the Wand let out a gravelly sigh, the kind that carried the weight of very bad memories. "I think we just stepped inside something we really shouldn’t have."

  Henry looked down. At first, he thought it was just mist, thin and wispy, curling lazily over the stone. But as his eyes focused, he realized something was wrong. The floor wasn’t stone at all.

  Beneath the veneer of mist, something shifted. A squishy, gelatinous substance glistened under his boots, the surface shimmering like oil, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors that should not—could not—exist. The hues bled into each other, shifting with each movement, like liquid light trapped in something alive. Henry’s stomach dropped.

  The floor was a creature. A slow, pulsing tremor ran up his legs as he felt the thing beneath them breathe. The realization clawed up his spine, and just as he was about to move— Elara let out an ecstatic shriek. Not fear. Not panic. Pure, giddy delight. Henry felt his soul try to escape his body. There was something profoundly, horrifically wrong about watching someone react to a nightmare with the same enthusiasm as a child seeing a puppy for the first time.

  She hugged herself, wings buzzing like a deranged wasp, spinning in ecstatic circles. “HENRY, IT’S ALIVE!”

  Yes, and Henry would very much like to not be inside it.

  "OH, HELL NO—NO NO NO NO NO—"

  The Wand’s entire frame pulsed, vibrating violently in Henry’s grip like it was trying to escape his grasp. Then Henry heard the walls.

  A deep, wet, organic groan reverberated through the corridor, like muscles stretching, like bones creaking in places where bones should not be. The passage itself shuddered, and Henry saw it— saw the walls breathe, the stone melting, the veins of mist stretching like sinew.

  Elara let out a giddy gasp.

  "It’s MOVING! It’s THINKING! It’s RESPONDING!" She clapped her hands, then patted the wall like a proud grandmother pinching her grandkid’s cheeks. "Who’s a good little living wall? Who’s a lovely, writhing esophageal nightmare? You are! Yes, you are!"

  Henry took an urgent step back. The floor wheezed. "Elara, STOP ENCOURAGING IT."

  Elara ignored him entirely, hovering up to a twitching tendril and patting it with both hands like a proud auntie at a baby shower. “I mean, really, Henry, just LOOK at this! This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Well, unless we die. But even then—what a way to go!”

  Henry wanted to die.

  She spun wildly in the air, her wings scattering a fresh burst of glowing powder into the air. The dust clung to everything—Henry, the walls, the gelatinous tendrils writhing above—and revealed things Henry would have much preferred stayed hidden.

  “WHEEEEEE—What was I doing? Oh, Henry, LOOK! We’re in its INTESTINES! HOW MARVELOUSLY DISGUSTING!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “Oooooh, do you think we’ll get fully digested? Do you think we’ll be pooped out?”

  Henry did not respond. His mind was too busy processing the nightmare they had just landed in.

  The walls stretched high above them, slick with moisture and pulsing in slow, rhythmic contractions. A circular chamber loomed around them, the entire space glistening with bioluminescent hues that rippled like an oil slick. What had once seemed like cavern stone was now clearly something else—flesh, thick and translucent, lined with twisting sinew and veins that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. Wet, jelly-like tendrils hung from above, dangling like disembodied nerves, some swaying limply, others curling in slow, probing motions, as if sensing their new guests.

  A rancid, humid stench filled the air, thick and suffocating. It smelled like rotting citrus and spoiled meat, like something that had been digesting for far too long.

  Henry’s stomach twisted. “What the fuck was that?”

  The Wand snorted. “Wow, Henrikins, do you kiss the Red-Robed Lady with that potty mouth?”

  Henry snapped his head down to glare at it. But the Wand wasn’t done.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Oh, don’t mind the little tumble! That was just Tim.”

  Henry blinked. “What?”

  “Tim! My bestie from grade school,” the Wand said, completely unfazed. “Shame what happened to him, but you know what they say—forget to eat your vegetables, and next thing you know, you grow glowing rainbow maws where your teeth and organs used to be!"

  Henry's entire body went cold. Slowly, his gaze drifted to the pulsing walls.

  “Tim?” Elara gasped dramatically. “You mean we’re in Tim?! This is WONDERFUL! Tim, sweetie, darling, I love what you’ve done with the place! Very organic. So slimy. Mwah, chef’s kiss.”

  A long, wet groan echoed around them, the walls quivering in response. Henry grabbed his face. “Elara, please stop talking to the death wall.”

  Elara ignored him entirely, hovering up to a twitching tendril and patting it with both hands like a proud auntie at a baby shower. “Oh, but look at these little guys! Look at their wiggly-wiggliness! Henry, I think they like me—”

  The tendril lashed outward. It wrapped around Elara in a single, slick, wet coil and yanked her out of the air.

  Henry screamed in fear. Elara screamed in joy.

  Then she laughed. “HAHA! OH, I LOVE THIS PLACE! DIGEST ME! DIGEST ME!”

  And then something opened.

  A circular maw peeled itself apart in the flesh of the chamber. Wet membranes stretched taut, splitting open like the skin of a fruit bursting overripe. The edges quivered, lined with spiraling, bioluminescent teeth that clicked together in slow, deliberate motion—click-click-click—like the chittering of a thousand bone needles clattering in anticipation.

  Then another maw split open. Then another. The sound was unbearable, like cartilage snapping, like sinew unwinding. The air grew thick with the scent of something wet and ancient and wrong.

  Henry barely had time to register his own breath locking in his throat before another set of teeth opened.

  Then another. And another.

  The walls were lined with dozens of hidden maws, peeling open one by one, each lined with those same spiraling, gnashing fangs.

  Henry swallowed hard, bile burning at the back of his throat. His mind rebelled against the sheer horror of it—writhing walls, gaping mouths, pulsing veins stretching like exposed nerves. Everything about this place screamed "wrong." "...Tim?"

  The walls contracted sharply, the teeth clicking faster, and the floor beneath them began to ripple.

  "OH GOOD, HE REMEMBERS ME," the Wand said, voice dry. "SEE, HENRY? HE STILL RECOGNIZES YOU."

  Henry took a slow step back. "I don't know Tim."

  "WELL, TIM SURE KNOWS YOU."

  A deep, wet growl rumbled through the chamber, vibrating through Henry’s bones.

  Elara was the first to scream. "MOVE!"

  Henry ran, his boots sinking into the squelching, pulsing floor, every step met with a sickening resistance. The gelatinous ground clung to his soles, forcing him to yank his feet free with each desperate stride, like running through knee-deep sludge. A surge of force carried him through the narrow, convulsing tunnels, each step landing on flesh that shouldn’t have been walked on. The walls shuddered, rippling in waves, trying to squeeze him in as he sprinted deeper into the creature’s writhing innards.

  Above him, Elara perched atop his head, completely at ease despite their rapid, gut-wrenching escape. She twirled Edward in her grip, holding the battered spoon aloft like a noble’s spear, its dulled reflection glinting under the pulsing bioluminescent light.

  “CHAAAAARGE!” she bellowed, kicking her legs like a tiny, manic cavalry commander.

  Henry grit his teeth. “Elara, I swear—”

  “No swearing! It offends Edward’s delicate sensibilities!”

  The walls shuddered violently, the entire chamber lurching as if in protest. Henry stumbled mid-sprint, barely catching himself before the corridor behind them exploded with movement.

  A swarm of flying maws erupted from the living walls.

  ‘Tim’ wasn’t letting them go easily.

  Mouths peeled open from every angle again, shrieking as they launched themselves like rabid, airborne predators. These things weren’t just attacking—they were hunting.

  Henry zigzagged wildly, narrowly avoiding a snapping row of fangs as one of the creatures swooped past him. The little floating purses—as Elara had so gleefully named them—weren’t just fast. They were intelligent.

  One darted ahead, anticipating his path, its gaping maw stretching unnaturally wide before spitting a jagged cluster of teeth straight at his face.

  Henry twisted mid-stride, the Wand’s momentum shoving him sideways just in time. The bone shards whistled past, splintering against the fleshy ground in a sickening, wet crunch.

  “Oh, lovely! Projectile dentistry! Just what I always wanted!” the Wand barked, crackling with irritation. “You’d think Tim would have better manners—OH FOR THE LOVE OF MAGIC, LEFT, LEFT—”

  Henry threw himself into a desperate roll, feeling the heat of snapping teeth just inches from his back. A maw slammed shut where he had stood a second ago, twitching like it had missed its meal.

  He wasn’t going to let this be the end.

  The Wand was screeching directions in his mind, Elara was whooping like she was at a carnival ride, and the walls were collapsing in hungry waves behind them. Maws snapped shut where he had been just seconds ago. His lungs burned, his legs ached, and his brain screamed at him to find a way out—

  But there was nothing. Just flesh and darkness and too many teeth.