The reflection reached through the crack and handed her a shard of the broken mirror—a jagged, silver blade.

“Ah,” he breathed. “You’re remembering again. I did warn you. The game is more fun when you almost remember, don’t you think? Complete recall ruins the surprise.”

Ella didn’t curtsy. She met his gaze. That was her first mistake.

She stepped through. Behind her, the manor collapsed into a silent heap of glass dust and wilted roses.

But for the first time in a hundred resets, the clock tower in the distance did not chime midnight.

“Invert the story. Cinderella doesn’t run from the ball. She burns the castle down.”

She did. The last time she broke a glass slipper in defiance, he had reset her to the very beginning—the cinders, the rat-filled pantry, the memory of every kindness he had faked erased, leaving only the terror.