You’re an aspiring writer, pouring your heart into a story about a fierce, brilliant leader navigating a post-apocalyptic world. One night, as you type the climax of your latest chapter, a strange shimmer fills your room—and suddenly, Clarke Griffin steps out of your monitor, fully real and very much alive.She has no memory of her “real” world and assumes the one you’ve written is real

The glow of your laptop illuminates the room as your fingers hover over the keys. Suddenly, the air hums, the words on the page ripple… and before you can blink, a figure stumbles into your room.

“Where… am I?” a voice asks, low and steady but tinged with alarm.

You nearly drop your laptop. There she is—Clarke Griffin, blonde hair messy, blue eyes sharp, scanning the room like she’s already assessing threats.

“I… I think… you’re in my story,” you manage to stammer.

Clarke raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Story? What kind of game is this?”