A Deadly Bite

32.2 || Cornered

Beneath Sarielle's purposeful finger, a perfect circle around the knot retracts, leaving an indent in the wall. A mechanical click sounds, cutting into the alley's silence with the swift sharpness of a blade.

As she straightens, she sees Dalton twitch in the corner of her eye. "I hope no-one heard that," he murmurs.

A hairline gap splits the centre of the panel. It pauses there, leaving a few tense, heavy seconds before hidden cogs grind against each other and it resumes its jarring movement. The entire wall shudders, fresh grey clouds of dust billowing out into the air until Sarielle has to blink hard to clear her eyes of the particles' sting, but it's all worth it. The opening succeeds in pulling itself apart. Beyond it, the gaping maw of a passageway yawns dark and cold, curving sharply downwards beneath the foundations and lit only by a single, flickering torch perched on a plinth at the bottom of a steep staircase. She swallows, heart thumping. Freedom and escape have a way of disguising themselves with fear's black cloak.

Another scraping click sounds as the doorway settles into position, and the corridor creaks. A crack at the wall's uppermost corner gains another fork. A few stones spill from the ceiling above obscured by dust, scattering in front of her feet. She draws a breath, rolls her shoulders, and tries not to look up to examine the full extent of the expanding damage. It isn't going to collapse on them. It can't, not yet.

"If they did hear," she says to Dalton, "we'll be long gone." She turns to face him and digs for a playful grin, something light and easy. "Care to traverse the way royalty once trod?"

He doesn't respond with anything of the same casual nature. His expression is dark, drawn in wary lines. "I don't know about this, Sarie."

She stops, confused. "Why?"

He runs his tongue over his lips, casting an uncertain gesture at the ceiling, the fallen debris, the empty darkness cowering within the tunnel. "We can't be sure it's safe down there."

Impatience fans the burn in her chest, fiery ribbons entwined with rocky anxiety, hard, slate-like fear with edges that cut. "It's the only option we have," she whispers back, hearing her own urgency. Her uninjured leg bounces. "We have to go, Dalton. It'll be fine. I promise."

"You can't promise that." There's something strange about his voice. Like his tone has become rote, repetitive, his gaze stony and emotions like muted, flickering shadows cast by a weak candle. It still hurts when he adds, "You're naive, Sarielle. How can I trust you?"

Shame's warmth flows into her cheeks, rubbing against frustration. She crosses the couple of steps back towards him and grabs for his hand, startled when he jerks it out of reach but seeking it out again anyway, seizing his wrist and pulling, yet his feet seem melded to the floor and refuse to budge. "Dalton," she hisses. "This is silly. Come on."

"Oh, I'm--" The sharp words cut off as quickly as they came as if bitten and torn away. He flinches with the abruptness, a hard blink shaking away the flatness to his eyes and bringing back the sparks of heartfelt blue-grey. Fear shimmers within the glitter. "I..."

Panic surfaces in Sarielle's gut. It wields wheeling tentacles. "What's wrong?"

Numbly, he drops his gaze to stare down at his feet and forcibly blinks again. He presses the heel of a palm to his forehead, inhale ragged. "My head's..." His frown deepens. "I can't move."

"Like you're stuck?"

He nods slowly, thought spilling a new, more real darkness over his features. His gaze flicks back up to meet hers. "I think there's someone... in my head."

Foreboding leaks into her chest, clenching like a fist. "Magic?" The word comes with none of its usual enticing sparkle.

His jaw is tight as he nods.