The passage was narrow at first—narrow for a dragon, of course. For Strax, it was just enough to walk with the egg resting on his arm, as if he were going to a fair.
Mercedes, however, felt squeezed between two living, pulsating walls that seemed to whisper with every breath she took.
She tried not to touch the ice.
She tried not to look at the ceiling—because it moved.
She tried not to think about the fact that everything there seemed conscious.
Strax, on the other hand, walked as if on a pleasant stroll, hands free, posture relaxed, tail swaying lightly. The egg on his arm pulsed slowly, synchronized with the corridor, as if the place itself were guiding his steps.
The silence was absolute—until Mercedes finally exploded:
"Can you at least pretend you're… I don't know… worried?!"
Strax raised an eyebrow, without stopping walking.
"Why?"
"WHY?!" Her voice reverberated off the walls, echoing like a mocking whisper.
