The Wrong Page

I never planned to wake up in my own novel.
One minute, I'm editing Age of Solari. The next, I'm face-down on the deck of the Widowmaker - right before the leviathan attack I definitely regret writing.
No magic powers. No helpful narrator. Just me, my characters, and a swarm of nightmare squid-people who want me dead for reasons I didn't type.
Now the plot's gone rogue, my creations don't trust me, and the only person speaking my language is a chaos goblin riding a flying rug.
If I can't survive the rewrite, my story's getting a new ending-and so am I.