I follow. Because apparently, saying no stopped being an option the second I woke up in this place.
If I ever get out of here, I’m going to have a whole new appreciation for my life.
The light on the floor moves ahead of me, slipping down the corridor and bending around corners before I even take a step. I follow because why not at this point. What else am I supposed to do—sit in my room and wait for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in?
The hallway is different today. Last night, it was all sharp angles and cold stone, like a dungeon pretending to be civilized. Now, the walls shimmer with silver that moves just beneath the surface. The air around me breathes low and steady, vibrating through my bones.
Every sound is amplified within the cavernous space.The pad of my feet, the whisper of my breath, the quiet pulse that isn’t mine alone. There’s also a new scent I can’t quite place in the air: something old and wild, like lightning caught in glass.
The floor slopes downward the longer I walk, though it’s so gradual it takes me a moment to notice. The temperature drops with each step, giving off the kind of chill that doesn’t touch your skin—it settles in your chest instead.
I run my fingers along the wall as I go. The stone is smooth, surprisingly warm, and alive. It feels like a heartbeat trapped beneath the surface, like I’m walking through the veins of something sentient.
“Disturbing,” I whisper.
The torches flicker like a reply.
“Not everything’s about you,” I tell the wall.
It flashes again.
I stop dead, scowling. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”
The light pulses two times. Smartass. But also, not normal that I’m beginning to feel like I can actually communicate with the walls.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, keep laughing. You’re not the only one with trust issues.”
The air tightens slightly, almost like a sulk.
I sigh. “My bad. I hurt the house’s feelings.”
The path turns sharply left, and when I step through the archway, the floor evens out again. The hum quiets and the air softens, warming once more.
And suddenly, I’m not in a hallway anymore.
The space that opens before me isn’t a room so muchas an underground cathedral. The ceiling stretches impossibly high, carved into a perfect dome of obsidian, streaked with what I can only call silver lightning strikes so bright they could almost be white. The walls are lined with weapon racks—swords, spears, staffs, and blades of every shape imaginable. Some look ancient, others more modern.
The floor gleams underfoot, a mosaic of black stone etched with intricate designs that pulse softly with each of my heartbeats. The whole place smells faintly of metal, and underneath that—blood. Not fresh, but not forgotten either.
I don’t notice him at first. Malrik stands in the center of the room, beside a section of mats, as if he’s always been there, hands clasped behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.
He’s traded his usual tailored coat for something more utilitarian: a black, fitted shirt and dark trousers tucked neatly into soft leather boots. The fabric gleams faintly in the light, not silk, but something close—comfortable, flexible, expensive in a way that feels wrong for a place like this. The only color in him is his eyes—storm-gray today. Watching and calculating.
And I can’t deny, he’s handsome, but in that silver fox way. Like I’m not attracted to him whatsoever—the thought alone makes me nauseous—but I’m also woman enough to admit he’s striking. For someone else.
“Good morning,” he says without moving from his post.
“Define ‘good,’” I mutter, dragging my feet toward him. “If you mean the kind where the house bullies you intoleaving your room for reasons other than escaping this place, then sure.”
He shifts his feet, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You’re adapting.”
“I’m surviving.”
“Semantics.”
Once I’m close enough, I notice how the soft light catches against the silver in his hair. He seems exactly the same as last night—composed and deliberate, like someone who’s never known chaos.
“I assume you slept well,” he says, studying me too close for comfort.
