"You unzipped me, Sabrina. Now I’m complete."
The summoning circle flickered—not with hellfire, but with the pale, buzzing glow of a corrupted television signal. Sabrina Spellman knelt before it, a cracked 720p monitor at the center.
"You sure about this, cousin?" Ambrose whispered.
She pressed play. The screen glitched. Harvey’s face twisted into a pixelated scream, then reshaped into something older—something from the void between episodes.
