Page 8 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I exhale, recalling echoes of a time when I, too, had friends. Or at least acquaintances—fellow humans who dared dream of freedom. That was before… No. I push the memory away. “Very well. Lead the way.”

The corridor soon opens into a cramped, low-ceilinged hall. A thick wooden door stands at the end, battered from use. Calla gestures for me to wait in the shadows while she creeps forward. With one ear to the door, she listens, then eases it open.

I slip in after her. The dormitory is a long, narrow room lined with rickety bunks, maybe two dozen or more. The stench of sweat and hopelessness clings to the air. Weak light filters through high windows. It’s quieter than I’d expect, likely because most slaves are out performing morning tasks. The few who remain look up, startled to see Calla, then more startled to see me.

At once, fear ripples through them, eyes going wide with the comprehension that I am not one of them, nor an elf. The faint swirl of darkness that seems to trail in my wake must set them on edge. One older woman covers her mouth, tears in her eyes.

A young man—likely Silas—bounds up from a low cot in the corner, nearly tripping over a stool. His hair is a shaggy mess, and his frame is thinner than I expected. “Calla?” he says, voice laced with panic. “They said you were— Are you all right?”

She nods, though tears pool in her eyes. “I’m fine for now.” Her voice quavers. She glances at me. “We’re leaving. Really leaving.”

Silas’s gaze rakes over me, alarm warring with confusion. He takes a slight step in front of Calla, protective. “Who…what is that?”

I don’t respond, letting Calla speak for me. “He’s helping us escape. I can’t explain right now, but we have to go before Tovel or Kaelith come.”

Murmurs break out among the few slaves left in the room. Their expressions are a mix of jealousy, longing, and terror. They all want to flee, but the risk is too great. They have no illusions about the cost if they’re caught.

Silas rubs his palms on his tattered trousers, glancing at the door we just came through. “I want to come, obviously, but how? The yard is crawling with guards. We can’t just stroll out.”

Calla opens her mouth, uncertain. She looks at me expectantly, as if I have the answers. And perhaps I do. My mindticks through possibilities: illusions, brute force, infiltration. My power has been dormant for so long, I’m not sure how it will behave under such stress. But one thing is certain—we can’t wait here for the entire fortress to descend upon us.

“Is there another way out?” I ask, scanning the dormitory. “A servant’s passage, an unused corridor?”

A middle-aged man on a bunk near the back raises his head. “Th-there’s an old tunnel that leads beyond the walls,” he stammers. “Not many know about it. But it’s blocked.”

I turn to him. “Blocked how?”

He flinches under my gaze. “Collapsed years ago. Rumor says the Soz’garoth sealed it. Something about smuggling contraband.”

I grit my teeth. If powerful demon sorcerers—Soz’garoth—are involved, their wards might be tricky to bypass. But not impossible. Perhaps my own demonic energy can counter it.

Calla catches the thread of my plan. “If we can get to that tunnel, maybe we can break through? Even if it’s partially collapsed, we could slip out?”

Silas shakes his head. “That’s on the west side of the estate, near the stables. Guards patrol that area regularly.”

I consider the alternative: forging a direct route through the main gates. It would be suicide for any human alone, but with me…maybe not. Yet the risk remains sky high. We’ll be outnumbered. And if the entire household mobilizes, even my power might be pushed to its limit.

A ripple of tension moves through the gathered slaves. They’re clearly torn between the possibility of following us and the fear of harsh reprisals. I can sense their desperation. My eyes sweep over them, and though a small, cruel part of me suggests leaving them to their fate, I recall that it was a mortal who freed me from the mirror. A mortal who dared to risk her life.

With a short exhale, I speak: “Whoever wishes to come should do so now. We may not get another chance.”

At that, chaos erupts—soft cries, frantic shuffling. Some cast glances around, as though the walls themselves have ears. One or two stand, fists clenched, prepared to take the gamble. Others sink back, shaking their heads. It’s a personal choice, and I can’t blame them if they choose fear over certain punishment if caught.

Silas clenches Calla’s hand. “We’ll come with you,” he says. “Wherever you’re going.”

Calla nods, relief coloring her features. She looks at me. “So, which route?”

Before I can answer, the door to the corridor slams open. A breathless young elf stands there, not a guard but a messenger or scribe by the look of his simple garb. His eyes sweep over the dormitory, then land on me. The shock on his face is instantaneous.

He inhales to shout an alarm, but I’m faster. My power lashes out in a swift wave, hooking into the torch by the door and flinging it, still lit, straight toward the elf’s chest. He yelps and flinches backward, giving me precious seconds. I cross the distance and grab his tunic, clamping my other hand over his mouth.

He kicks wildly, but I hold firm. A surge of cold seeps from my fingertips into his body, sapping his strength. He stiffens, eyes rolling back, and crumples to the ground, only half-conscious.

Behind me, several slaves stifle gasps or avert their eyes. I sense their growing terror of me. That’s unavoidable. The sound of the scuffle, though brief, might have carried. We have no time left for quiet plans.

“Out the main gate, then,” I say quickly. “Now. All who dare.” I look to Calla. “I’ll handle any who stand in our way.”

She exchanges a glance with Silas, whose face is pale but resolute. Then she steels herself. “Okay,” she breathes. “Let’s go.”

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