Famous last words, I thought sourly, pushing onward into uncertainty.
But at least I was moving.
Moving through damp, dark corridors that twisted and turned like they were deliberately mocking my nonexistent sense of direction. Whoever designed this place clearly didn't believe in things like straight lines or logic, which was probably great if you were a kidnapper but absolutely miserable if you were their victim desperately trying to make a subtle escape.
Subtle, of course, being a relative term. My earlier door-shattering method had likely eliminated any hope of stealth.
I pressed myself cautiously against a grimy stone wall, holding my breath as footsteps echoed sharply down the adjoining hallway. My heart thundered loudly in my chest, anxiety thrumming through every muscle.
[Two guards approaching from the left corridor,] the system informed me crisply, sounding as if it was calmly directing traffic instead of potentially saving my life. [Move quickly or you'll be spotted.]
