Lena smiled. Because she had planned for this. In her pocket was a single item smuggled from Apocalypse : a spell of reversal, taught by Mallory herself.
“Not this season,” Lena whispered, and shattered the key across the marble floor.
“You’ve completed twelve seasons,” said the Keeper before her—a withered thing wearing the skin of a season-one extra. “Now you become the thirteenth. A season that never airs. The one where the viewer is the horror.”
“Fix it,” whispered the Rubber Man, lounging in a corner.