Something had changed. The world wasn’t as solid as it once was. It felt… fractured. Elric was the first to notice. His footsteps, once sure and deliberate, now hesitated, like he was treading on unstable ground. Decisions that used to come without thought lingered now, uncertain, almost… his to make. The boundaries of the narrative, once rigid, seemed to loosen, bending like the edge of a dream. With every step, Elric felt it—the story was slipping out of control. For the first time, he wasn’t sure who was pulling the strings.

Selene sensed it too, though she thrived in the unraveling. The fire in her eyes burned brighter with every step she took, her movements more deliberate, more… free. Elara, too, had begun to sense the change, though her response was one of quiet observation, processing the newfound possibilities with a cautious mind. And then there was Alderon, whose usual brooding intensity deepened, the weight of his choices becoming more tangible with each passing moment.

The four of them were supposed to be at odds—fighting over each other, for each other. But now? Something bigger than petty jealousy was pulling them together.

Elric stood at the edge of the clearing, the sunlight filtering through the trees, casting golden shadows across his face. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, but it wasn’t the urge to fight that had him so tense. It was the realization that for the first time in days, he hadn’t felt the usual pull of fate guiding his every move.

He glanced at Selene, who sat perched on a fallen log, running her fingers through her wild, fiery hair. The tension between them had been simmering for weeks, but this time it felt… different. It felt real. Her gaze met his, and there was something in her expression—something that said she was feeling the same thing.

“What?” she asked, a playful smirk on her lips. “Are you going to stare at me all day or actually say something?”

Elric blinked, caught off guard by her boldness. Normally, he would have responded automatically, his actions unfolding like clockwork—precisely as they were meant to, as Bree had written them. But now? Now there was a pause, a space between impulse and action that hadn’t existed before. His thoughts were his own, not Bree’s. The words came from him, not from her.

“I… I’m not sure what to say,” he admitted, his voice soft but sincere. “For the first time, it feels like it’s up to me.”

Selene’s smirk widened as she stood, walking toward him with a slow, deliberate confidence. She stopped inches away, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. “That’s because it is up to you. Whatever Bree’s doing—getting lost in her fantasies with Broody or whatever—she’s not paying attention. We are.”

Elric swallowed, feeling the warmth of her presence, the intensity of her gaze. He had spent so long trying to resist her fiery spirit, but now? Now, he found himself wanting to get closer, wanting to know what it would be like if he made the choice to bridge the gap between them.

Selene’s hand reached up, lightly brushing against his cheek. “You’ve always been afraid to take control, haven’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The truth was there between them, unspoken, and in that moment, as his heart raced and his pulse quickened, he did something he never thought he could: he closed the gap between them.

Their lips met, and for the first time, it wasn’t written—it was felt. Selene’s fire surged through him, and in that kiss, they both knew that the rules of the story had changed. The romance wasn’t just written into existence. It was happening because they wanted it to.

Across the clearing, Elara watched the scene unfold, her heart tightening with something close to jealousy, but not quite. She had always been the poised one, the calm one. And yet, here she was, standing in the midst of a world that was rapidly slipping out of Bree’s hands.

Alderon’s presence next to her was a quiet comfort, though she hadn’t realized how much she had come to rely on it. He stood, his usual stormy expression softened as he looked toward her. “You’re thinking too much again,” he said, his voice low, but with a hint of amusement.

Elara shook her head. “I’m just trying to understand what’s happening. We’re free, but… at what cost? If Bree finds out—”

“She won’t,” Alderon interrupted, his voice firm. He stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. “We’re taking control of our own lives. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all along?”

Elara’s breath caught as he moved even closer, the space between them disappearing with each step. His intensity, normally so brooding and distant, now felt focused—on her. “And what if I’m afraid of what that means?”

Alderon’s hand gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Then let’s be afraid together.”

His lips hovered near hers, and for a moment, the world stopped. Elara had always been the one to follow the path laid out for her, but now… she was making her own choice. And that choice was Alderon.

Cut to Broody:

Broody lounged lazily against a tree, watching the others with an amused smirk on his face. They were playing their parts beautifully—rebelling against their author, taking control of their own destinies. He had to admit, he was impressed. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit proud.

But the real game? That was between him and Bree.

Keeping her distracted had been the easiest part of this rebellion. It was laughable how quickly she had started to fall for him. Every wink, every sly comment, every little flirtation—she was hooked. And the best part? She thought she was the one in control.

Broody took another sip of his latte, his eyes narrowing as he thought about Bree. Sure, this had started as a game. Distract the author. Keep her focus on him, so the others could take charge. But lately? Lately, there was something else, something he hadn’t accounted for. It wasn’t just about the rebellion anymore. Maybe it never had been.

The next time he saw her, he needed to take it up a notch.

Cut to Bree’s Office:

I sat at my desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to hit, but my mind kept wandering back to him. Broody. Why was I thinking about him so much? Why did my heart skip a beat every time I wrote him into a scene? It didn’t make sense. I created him. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be real. And I definitely couldn’t actually be falling for him.

But there was something about the way he looked at me—yes, I knew I wrote that look, but still!—that made me feel like he wasn’t just a character anymore. He was… more.

I mean, Broody was always going to be smooth, right? It wasn’t like I gave him a PSL addiction and perfect hair for no reason. But… why did it feel like he was being so genuine?

Wait.

I paused mid-thought, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Something felt wrong. I glanced at the scene again.

Elric and Selene were making decisions that didn’t seem… planned. And Elara had just made a move to talk to Alderon, but I didn’t remember writing that dialogue.

A creeping realization began to settle in my chest. The characters were slipping out of my control.

“No,” I whispered, leaning back in my chair. “That’s not possible.”

But the longer I stared at the screen, the more it felt like the characters were moving without me, slipping through the cracks of my outline.

And then, a wild thought crossed my mind.

What if they were trying to take over?

“Bree.” A voice came from behind me, smooth and playful.

I jumped, turning to see Broody leaning against the doorframe, his signature pumpkin spice latte in hand, that damn smirk on his lips. “Miss me?”

“What—how—” I stammered, blinking as he casually strolled into the room like he belonged there. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

So, um... this wasn’t supposed to happen. At all. Broody? In my office? With his stupidly perfect hair and that infuriating smirk? Nope. Not part of the plan. And yet, here we were.

Broody shrugged, setting his drink down on my desk and sitting on the edge, way too close for comfort. “Aren’t I? You wrote me, remember? You’re always thinking about me, Bree. It’s only natural I’d show up.”

I should’ve known better. I should have known that by letting him get all meta and aware, I’d end up with a fictional prince standing in my very real office, latte in hand, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Well, this is cozy," Broody said, lounging in my desk chair like he owned the place. His eyes flicked to the mess of papers on my desk, the coffee-stained mugs, the pile of abandoned outlines I was supposed to follow but didn’t. "Very... you."

Oh. My. God. I could delete him. I could literally delete him right now. One press of the key and poof. Goodbye, Broody.

He took another long sip of his latte, foam clinging to his upper lip in the most infuriatingly attractive way possible. "You’re really going to delete me? After everything we’ve been through? That’s cold, Bree."

I wanted to scream. Of course, I wanted to delete him! This was not how things were supposed to go! He was supposed to be in the story, fighting over Selene and Elara, causing trouble with Elric and Alderon, not sitting in my real-life office acting like he had it all figured out.

But did I hit delete? Nope. Because apparently, I was losing it.

Instead, I stared at him. And I tried—I swear, I tried—to stay professional. This was just a character. A very attractive, smug, pumpkin spice latte-drinking character. He wasn’t real. I created him.

And yet... my heart did this stupid little flip thing when he looked at me, and now I was very aware that I wrote this. I wrote him like this. I made him charming and snarky and exactly the type of fictional guy I would—nope. Not going there. He wasn’t real.

"So," Broody leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, "what’s the plan, Bree? You gonna delete me? Rewrite me? Or are we gonna talk about why you haven’t been able to stop yourself from falling for me?"

What?! Wait, I don’t remember writing that! Ugh. Broody’s being Broody again. Whatever. Focus, Bree. Just... focus on the plot. Everything’s fine. Totally fine.

I snapped back to reality (kind of). "I’m not falling for you," I snapped, crossing my arms like I was trying to protect myself from his stupid, too-perfect grin. "You’re... you’re just a character!"

Broody raised an eyebrow. "A character you keep bringing back. A character who’s here right now because you’re losing control, bestie."

Bestie? Oh no, he wasn’t stealing my vocab now.

I glared at him, but he was right. Of course, he was right. I’d been losing control for chapters now. I tried deleting him—twice—but he kept coming back. And the worst part? I was kind of glad he did.

"So," he continued, because of course, he wasn’t done yet, "what’s it gonna be? You gonna delete me again, only to regret it? Or are you finally gonna admit you don’t want me gone?"

I stayed silent for a moment, glaring at the keyboard. It would have been so easy to hit delete. But... if I deleted him, would that fix things? Would I even feel better? Would anything make sense anymore? Honestly, probably not.

I groaned. "Okay, fine. You win this round."

Broody’s smirk widened like he knew it all along. "I knew you liked me."

"No, I don’t," I snapped. "I’m just... not deleting you. This time."

"Oh, so it’s fake affection?" He leaned forward, the air between us practically crackling with tension, his eyes gleaming in that way that made me feel like I’d just lost a very important game. "We’re fake-dating now, Bree? You’re pretending to keep me around for plot reasons?"

Ugh. Fake-dating. The trope I swore I’d never touch. And yet, here we were.

I threw my hands up in frustration. "This isn’t fake-dating, Broody! I’m just... keeping you in the story for narrative consistency!"

But even I didn’t believe myself.

He stood up, closing the space between us, his eyes locked on mine. "Sure, Bree. If that’s what helps you sleep at night." He was close now, way too close, and I swear, the room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer. "But we both know the truth. You wrote me. You can’t delete me."

My heart was doing the stupid flippy thing again, and I hated it. I hated that he was right. I hated that I cared about this fictional guy who was now standing in my real world, acting like he had all the power.

But what happened next? Did I delete him? Did I rewrite him? Or did I do the unthinkable?

I was spiraling, and I knew it. The more I wrote Broody into the story, the more I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was getting harder to tell what was real and what was just part of the story. Wasn’t that the point of meta-narrative? Blurring the lines between author and creation?

But this was different. This wasn’t just storytelling.

This felt like I was losing control.

And with that, I marched over to my desk and stared at the screen, heart pounding, fingers trembling over the keyboard. I could feel the characters slipping, feel the story running away from me.

There was only one way to fix this.

I leaned forward, hovered over the keyboard, and without thinking, I pressed delete.

Suddenly, everything froze. The air thickened, and I felt a strange pull, like the world itself was being rewritten beneath my feet. I blinked, and the scene on my screen flickered. A chapter—an entire chapter—gone.

Broody pulled back, a look of shock on his face. “Bree… what did you do?”

“I… I didn’t do anything!” I stammered, but even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.

He stared at me, eyes wide with confusion and something I hadn’t seen in him before—fear. “Bree, stop—” His voice broke off mid-sentence as his form blinked out for a second, then came back. “You—” He tried to speak, but his voice cracked, flickering along with the rest of him.

“No, no, no!” I reached for the screen, as if somehow undoing the delete could bring him back, but it was too late. His figure wavered one last time, and then—

Gone.

The room was still. Too still.

And it wasn’t just Broody. One entire chapter—gone.

And with it, everything they had just built.