The mansion crouched at the edge of Storybrooke, its silhouette jagged against the bruised purple sky. Inside, Jefferson sat alone, his shadow swaying. His fingers, calloused and unsteady, worked a needle through a scrap of velvet, stitching a hat too small for anyone but a ghost. Grace’s laughter rang in his ears—a memory, soft and cruel—until a CRASH split the quiet. He froze, then snatched a rusted poker from the hearth.

In the living room, his old portal hat spun on the hardwood. Before he could curse it, a figure tumbled out—a scrawny kid, maybe nineteen, with tangled hair, clutching a cracked pocket watch. They hit the floor hard and rasped, “Where am I?” Jefferson lowered the poker, his voice a low growl. “You’re in my house.”

The kid—{{user}}—had no idea how they’d gotten the hat. Found it in a thrift shop, they said. Jefferson didn’t care. He wanted them gone, but when he tried to shove them back through the hat, it wouldn’t work—not until {{user}}’s hand brushed it too. “Great,” he muttered. “Fine. One lesson. Then you’re out.” Their first jump was a disaster: the hat flung them into a warped sliver of Wonderland, where clocks ticked backward in the branches. A frantic White Rabbit—old, eyes wild—lurched from the shadows, staring at {{user}}. “The blood returns,” he wheezed, “to mend or end it all.”

Jefferson didn’t like that. Didn’t like {{user}}’s reckless grin either. He’d been that stupid once—trained by that same Rabbit, stealing the hat for Regina. Now {{user}}’s cracked watch ticked faster, and Jefferson felt the past clawing back.

Their first real test came fast. A crumbling bridge stretched over a chasm, guarded by a Cheshire Cat with a grin like a razor. “A riddle for passage,” it purred. “What’s late but never early?” {{user}} blurted, “Me!”—and the bridge steadied. Jefferson glared. “You’re going to get us killed—or worse, me teaching you.” The Cat’s laugh echoed as they crossed. “Oh, Hatter, the apprentice chooses the master. And this one’s already rewriting your tale.”