Page 107 of Labyrinthine
Not in the way he wants. Not in the way he deserves. But somewhere inside me, beneath the strategy and defiance and plans spun from desperation—I care.
Far too much.
And I am about to betray him all the same.
“You need a tether to keep you sane in life,” he murmurs. “You are mine. Your heart, your soul. You always will be. But in the labyrinth, I use another cord to bind me to you.”
He leaves. The door clicks shut behind him.
And I let out the breath I’ve been holding since Darian’s name passed my lips.
I pace the room, counting every step to quiet my nerves. When the sun begins to dip below the horizon, I change into my training clothes, black, silent and familiar. The velvet cloak slides over my shoulders like a promise.
I don’t need the tunnels this time. Just the direct path from my chambers to the labyrinth. I’ve escaped the palace once—I can do it again.
Especially tonight. The guards are distracted, already dreaming of my father’s feast.
I time it to perfection. Five minutes before shift change, I step into the corridor, feigning fatigue, and ask to be escorted to the baths. They groan but agree. When we arrive, I convince them I’ll be fine alone. They hesitate. I smile. They leave.
The moment the door clicks behind them, I scatter decoy clothes across the floor and slip into the corridor, heart hammering.
Behind the heavy curtain, I wait, listening to the muffled beat of boots—the shift change.
Timing is everything.
Mallen taught me that.
So I use everything he gave me—every lesson, every warning, every drilled routine—against him. My guilt clings to me like sweat. But I don’t let it slow me.
I move in silence. I know where the guards will be, how long their routes take, where the blind spots are.
He trained me for this. And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.
I slip through the palace like smoke, every step calculated, every shadow familiar. The path is etched into muscle memory now. I reach the concealed stair and hold my breath as I try the handle.
Please don’t be locked.
It turns.
I release the breath, quiet as a prayer, and slip into the dark.
Down the narrow steps. Across the courtyard. Past the points of no return.
I run.
My lungs burn, but I don’t stop. I only slow when I reach the stables. The night cloaks me, and I crouch low, watching. Waiting. No movement. No shouts.
I made it.
I grab a sword left against the wall rack near the tack room door and feel the familiar weight of it. A reassurance. A burden. A reminder. This isn’t like last time. I was running away then. Trying to stop a death I didn’t yet understand. But now—now I know what I’m doing. I know who I’m doing it for.
This time, I’m not running from anything.
I’m runningtosomething.
To someone.
And maybe—just maybe—to the part of myself I lost along the way.
