Page 55 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

Maybe it wanted him to leave something behind.

A sharp crack rang out. Pain bloomed across his cheek, bright and sudden, snapping his head to the side. Corin gasped, stunned, as his thoughts scattered like startled birds.

Ariadne stood in front of him, her hand still raised and eyes blazing.

“Think later,” she demanded. “Run now.”

The growl exploded into a full-throated roar, so close it felt like breath at his back.

That did it.

Corin didn’t argue. He turned and ran, following Ariadne as they bolted down the familiar hallways. Stone and shadow blurred around them. Whatever was hunting them down thundered forward in their wake, the Labyrinth howling in answer as if thrilled by the chase.

They ran like their lives depended on it, and Corin supposed they did. Whatever this monster was could very well kill them—or at the very least, harm them severely.

They tore around a corner just as the corridor ahead yawned open, stone peeling back when the Labyrinth itself had decided—at the last possible moment—to allow them passage. Corin barely had time to register the shift before the wall behind them slammed shut.

The sound was deafening.

Stone crashed against stone with a finality that made his bones ache. Dust rained down, stinging his eyes, and the growling roar was cut short into a furious muffled bellow.

The two pressed themselves against the far wall as the sound of heavy footfalls thundered past on the other side. The monster charged the path they had just taken, completely unaware the world had sealed it against them.

The sound slowly faded. One set of footsteps. Then none.

Silence crept back in around them, thick and ringing.

Corin bent over, hands bracing on his knees as he dragged air into his lungs. His chest burned. His legs were trembling in the aftermath of the threat. Ariadne stood a few paces away, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her breath uneven.

She was the first to break the quiet. “What,” she said tightly, “was that?”

Corin stiffened his spine, still catching his breath. “I–” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think it was something old. Big. It didn’t sound like anything I’ve run into before. Here or above.”

Her eyes flashed. “You think?” She took a sharp step toward him. “I know every monster in this Labyrinth, whether it be large or small. I was not asking you about what monster just nearly tried to kill us.” She scoffed and shook her head. “You stopped. You stood there while it was hunting us. What was that?”

“I was thinking,” he shot back, heat rising in his chest.

“Thinking,” she echoed with a scoff.

“Yes, thinking.”

“What could you possibly have been thinking about when we were being chased by a monster?”

“I just–” he stopped himself. He blinked a few times. How could he put his thoughts into words that she could understand? “I just needed to think.”

“Thinking gets you killed here.”

He bristled. “I wasn’t helpless. If it had reached us, I could’ve fought it off.”

Ariadne laughed once—short and sharp, without any humor. “You have an unpracticed blade. You were exhausted and halfway lost inside your own head. And I was supposed to know you could fight off that monster?”

“I’ve fought worse,” Corin insisted, though the words felt hollow. “I fought your brother.”

Her eyes rolled. “That was different, and you know that.”

They stared at each other, the air between them tight with frustration. Corin opened his mouth to argue again, then stopped.

Her hands were shaking. Not with anger. Not with lingering tiredness of the chaos they encountered. Not with fear of what chased them.