The echoes of pursuit were no longer just footsteps—they were the heavy, relentless beats of a war drum, pounding closer and closer, driving Ava deeper into the labyrinth. Each turn, each hurried step, sent her further into the city's twisting bowels, a place where light was a distant memory, where hope felt as cold and brittle as the stone beneath her feet. The walls, slick with moisture and coated in a filth that spoke of ages of neglect, closed in around them, forcing her to confront the truth: they were descending into a place where even shadows feared to tread.
"Why here?" Ava's voice trembled, but not with fear—no, it was the tremor of someone pushed to the brink, teetering on the edge of an abyss. "Why are you leading us here?"
