Page 54 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

XIX

Nothing in the Labyrinth was ever truly bright except for Ariadne’s chamber, but it was a bit brighter in this portion of the hall.

The air felt thinner. Less oppressive. The walls became smoother, too, the more they walked. The stone was clearly worn down by centuries of passage as opposed to teeth and claws, but other walls had felt rough and pieced together.

They were moving quickly, too quickly for Corin to stop and think about the passages they were moving through.

The corridor opened into a space that tugged at something deep in Corin’s memory. Something that felt strange, and he couldn’t quite get a handle on what it was.

He slowed.

“What are you doing?” Ariadne asked sharply, grabbing his wrist. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

But he couldn’t. Memories had started to rush over him.

His gaze lifted, tracing the familiar curve of the archway, the subtle fracture in the stone to the left, the faint indentation in the floor where countless feet had crossed the same threshold.

He swallowed. “This is–” His breath caught. “This is where I came in.”

Understanding flickered across Ariadne's face, followed immediately by alarm. “Yes. And we cannot stay here.”

The growl behind them surged, louder now that Corin had paused, no longer a distant hum tracking them. It scraped along the corridors like a living thing dragging its hunger forward. The stone beneath Corin’s boots vibrated faintly with each sound.

But Corin barely heard it. Barely felt it.

This was it.

The entrance.

The beginning and the end.

He pulled free of Ariadne’s grasp and took a few slow steps forward, eyes unfocused as his thoughts spiraled inward. If killing the Minotaur wasn’t the answer, if strength and blood meant nothing, then what did the maze want from him?

A sacrifice. He nearly scoffed.

Not his death. Not his flesh. Though he supposed the Labyrinth may actually want to take that.

But truly, it demanded something else from him.

But what?

Pride? No, his uncle had paid that price, and he refused to be his uncle.

Fear? He was drowning in it. Had been since he entered the threshold.

He blinked a few times, trying and failing to understand the Labyrinth. What did it want from him?

His future? His crown? His life beyond these walls?

The growl roared. It was a deep thunderous sound that made his heart stutter. The sound was close enough now that he could feel it in his chest.

Still, he did not move. He couldn’t.

“Heir,” Ariadne hissed, panic bleeding into her tone. “You need to move. We need to move. Now!”

But he was still, staring at the threshold, at the memory of stepping forward willingly and believing survival was something that could be earned through violence alone.

Maybe the Labyrinth didn’t want to take something.