It happens quick and clean.
I only look at Riko. What's left of him. Half of his body lies ahead, split across the floor where the chain passed.
Ashlynn steps in close behind me. Her hand twists into the back of my tattered blue uniform, pulling it tight against my spine. The fabric bunches under her grip, digging in. Her breath hits my neck in uneven bursts.
I freeze.
Each warden's single red eye turns blue.
They start moving.
Not toward us.
They move forward instead—toward the open doorway. Bare feet step onto what remains of Riko. Bone shifts. Flesh spreads under their weight. Chains drag through blood, pulling it outward in dark streaks that glisten under the light.
They keep walking.
Two lines form, mirroring each other. Each warden faces one opposite him. The space between their bodies opens into a straight path, starting at the doorway and stretching to the cross-section of the hallway.
At the far end, stairs rise upward.
Clear.
Unblocked.
Salvation.
I step forward once. My foot lands between the lines.
Ashlynn's hands clamp onto my left forearm. Her grip locks my elbow, nails biting through fabric. I turn my head.
She shakes her head once.
I pull. Her fingers hold.
I slide the notebook from my pocket and open it. I angle it toward her face.
Tauran City Prison. First floor.
The page trembles slightly.
"One more stairs," I say.
She doesn't look. Her eyes stay fixed on the floor ahead of us—on the crushed shape pressed into the stone beneath the wardens' feet.
I put the notebook away.
I step forward again.
"Please." Her voice breaks. Her grip tightens instead of loosening.
I stop.
I look back once—at what remains of Riko. Then at the wardens. Lines of blue eyes, unblinking.
A moment.
Then I turn fully around.
I grab Ashlynn and drag her. We run.
Behind us, the blue drains back to red. Chains lift. Feet begin to move.
We sprint down the way we came from. The door ahead is still open.
No hesitation. We go back in.
Laughter spills from the cells as we pass. Faces press to bars, mouths wide.
"HEY, FREEDOM IS THE OTHER WAY."
"YOUR FRIEND IS FREE."
We don't slow. Our bodies don't want to.
We reach the torture room. I release Ashlynn's arm. She wipes her face with the heel of her hand, then turns back toward the door.
"We need to block it," I say.
She nods.
We drag the larger devices first. Metal legs scrape across the floor, shrieking. We shove them against the door. Smaller devices stack on top. The pile leans, shudders—then holds.
We turn to the ladder.
I go down first. My shoes drop into the vent passage. My feet land in a thin black puddle spread across the floor, warm and tacky.
Ashlynn drops beside me. Her boot splashes the edge of it.
"Feral is here."
She unties her lantern. White light blooms in her right hand. In her left, she grips a loose brick from the floor, knuckles pale.
I raise my right arm. The metal is still only a shield—flat, rigid, embedded through my palm.
We move forward, following streaks of black liquid along the passage. My breathing quickens despite myself. The metal begins to warm.
Ahead, through the opening, the solitary room is visible. The door we locked stands open.
Clean.
Undamaged.
We pass the opening.
A hiss cuts through the passage.
The feral launches from my side.
I catch its jaws with the shield. The impact drives me backward. My shoulders slam into the floor. Its weight crashes onto my chest, pinning me there.
Ashlynn rushes in and swings the lantern down.
The feral turns, snaps a hand up, and catches it mid-swing. It doesn't break—but the grip cracks the container inside.
White liquid spills out, hits the air, and turns red instantly.
The shield catches some of the liquid and heats violently.
Tendrils push outward from its surface—thin at first, then thickening—wrapping around my forearm in uneven segments. They lock in place one by one as pressure bears down.
Not complete.
Not yet.
At the front edge, metal stretches forward, narrowing, sharpening. A blade forms unevenly, lengthening as the tendrils finish sealing around my arm.
I drive the forming blade into the feral's left foot from behind.
It shrieks. Black liquid pours from the wound and is absorbed into the metal along the tendrils. The casing tightens, pulling inward.
I rip the blade free.
The feral slams into me. My back hits the wall. Brick collapses inward. A gap opens—just wide enough to pass through. Beyond it, a drop into a different section of the vent passage.
The feral lunges again.
I raise my arm. The casing holds. Teeth scrape metal, sparks flashing.
Ashlynn steps in and smashes the brick down on its head.
Again.
Again.
I grab its leg and twist. The feral stumbles and plunges through the gap headfirst. The impact below ends it. Black liquid spreads across the floor beneath, slowly creeping outward.
Ashlynn helps me up—but there's no moment of respite.
Chains drag through the passage. Bricks crack. Walls crumble. The sound closes in.
We turn to the new hole.
Ashlynn jumps first.
Then I make the leap.
The leap I choose.