The corridor yawned before Yara, dimly lit by torch sconces, stone slick beneath her bare feet.
She tore down the hall, silk skirts whipping like flames around her legs, her breath a ragged rhythm in her ears.
The first turn—two servants froze, eyes huge. One shrieked and dropped the basket she carried; fruit scattered across the tiles like marbles. Yara nearly slipped, caught herself on the wall, and kept running.
Another turn—arches opened into vast rooms, some filled with crates, some with maps or ledgers. She glimpsed cages—empty now, or worse, with scraps of bone and cloth inside. Her stomach lurched, but she forced herself forward.
Behind her, Kellan's roar bellowed again, rattling down the halls. Heavy boots thundered in pursuit. Find a door. Find a weapon. Find anything. She darted into a side passage, shoulders scraping the narrow walls.
