My hand slides against the cold stone wall, leaving a streak of red in its wake.
The sting keeps me grounded. Focused. I won't waste energy wiping it off. Let it stay—a marker of where I've been and what I'll do if this gamble goes south.
The corridor is too quiet, suffocatingly so. It's the kind of silence that feels alive, as though the shadows themselves are holding their breath, watching me. My boots echo against the slick stone floor, each step slicing through the stillness. Too loud. Too deliberate.
I keep walking. I don't have a choice.
Somewhere ahead, faint voices buzz like flies, too far away to make out. The guards I pass don't so much as glance at me. They're like statues, hollow-eyed and indifferent. The cocky ones, the sneering ones from earlier, must have been reassigned to deal with the fallout from my arrest.
