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He opened his eyes. The jungle was still the jungle. Teachers still measured, students still whispered, and the ironwood still made a shape on the ground like a black sail. Only one thing had changed, and it had changed everything: the world leaned.
Pebbles twitched toward his boot. A fallen leaf that should have drifted left took a sudden interest in his right knee. Even the sleeve of his coat tugged inward with the faintest greed. It was gentle —gossipy, not grabby— but it was there.
Fizz saw the leaf make its wrong decision and gave a soft, delighted gasp. "Oh. Oh, that is new."
"It is," John said. He kept his voice ordinary. He was not going to make a sermon out of a breath.
Ray limped over with the gait of someone who refused to admit he was tired. He stopped, blinked, and watched a bead of water roll off a blade of grass, hesitate, then run in a tiny curve to touch John's boot. "Is the ground… fond of you now," he asked, baffled rather than afraid.
