Page 51 of Bound to the Dreadlord

But not small enough.

One of the advisors stops speaking.

The air shifts.

Footsteps turn. Head tilts.

"Did you hear that?"

Panic floods my body.

A chair scrapes. Fabric rustles. Someone begins moving toward the tapestry.

They are coming.

I have to move.

Now.

I slip away.

One step. Two.

A breath held so tightly my lungs ache.

The guards are still waiting at the entrance. They will see me if I move too quickly.

They will see me if I hesitate.

So I walk.

Not too fast. Not too slow.

As if I belong here.

As if I am not unraveling from the inside.

The advisors are still speaking, their voices drifting as I weave through the towering shelves, each step carrying me closer to the exit.

I do not listen to the rest.

I cannot.

The words have already settled like poison in my gut.

The Destroyer.

The sirens should have been wiped out.

A woman whose voice will unravel men.

I reach the doors.

The guards glance at me but say nothing as they pull them open, revealing the darkened corridors beyond.

I step through.

I keep walking.

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