Mira thought of her escaped shadow, her silverfish breath, her independent reflection. She realized the truth. Albkanaleapk wasn’t a spell. It was a loan . Each utterance borrowed something from reality — and the debt was coming due.

For three years (or three seconds — time had no vote here), Mira lived a life she’d never had: a small house by a green sea, a dog with mismatched ears, a partner who laughed at her bad puns. She grew tomatoes. She learned to play the accordion badly. She forgot, almost, that any of it was borrowed.

“Yes,” she said.