Page 59 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

She took a hesitant step closer, but she was still too far away from him. “You are not telling me something.”

Corin swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I will. Just—not yet. Trust me. Please.”

Ariadne scoffed, but it wasn’t entirely negative. “It sounds like you have switched our words, heir.”

“Maybe I have.”

She studied him, searching for recklessness or something in his eyes. “You’re asking me to follow you. You who does not know the Labyrinth.”

“I’m asking you to trust me,” Corin replied. He took a breath, steadying himself. “I’ve placed a lot of trust in you. I need you to trust me, as well.”

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t respond.

“You said you want me to get out. If that’s true… then you have to let me do this my way.”

The words settled between them, heavy and fragile.

For many breaths, she said nothing. She just studied him. The Labyrinth creaked faintly, as if impatient for her decision—or curious.

Then she nodded, and the crushing feeling in his chest lightened.

“Alright,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you.”

The simplicity of her words struck him harder than any blade, though it crushed his heart just the same. Still, he nodded once in return, unable to find words that wouldn’t break the moment.

Together, they stepped into the passage, guided by Corin’s pull on the thread.

The shadows deepened immediately, the air thick with the scent of iron and old stone. Corin felt it around them then: certainty sharpening into something colder, more dangerous. Whatever waited ahead, he would face it. It would hurt him—and her—but he would finish his trial.

When the ground began to slope downward, when the walls widened just enough to let something enormous pass, Corin knew he was right.

He was going to find the Minotaur.

He was going to get out of the Labyrinth.

And he was going to break Ariadne’s heart.

XXI

The string sat heavy in Corin’s hand as it led him forward.

The corridor sloped downward for a long time, the air growing warmer with every footfall. Then, it shot up into a steep stone stairwell, forcing Corin and Ariadne to climb countless steps.

The golden veins that had disappeared through much of their journey began to glow so brightly once again, allowing Corin to clearly see where the string was leading them. The light was more bright than he had seen it before, pulsing softly through the walls as if the Labyrinth itself was pulling him forward.

Corin noticed immediately. He wasn’t sure if Ariadne recognized it or even cared—she had been eerily silent since she chose to follow him. She never seemed to have minded the golden veins, so he wasn’t sure if it meant anything to her.

But Corin understood.

His chest tightened. Not with fear, but with certainty.

He was right.

This was the way. The Labyrinth was no longer resisting them—it was guiding them. The veined glow traced the path forward, leading him deeper, closer to the heart. Toward the place where everything converged.

Toward the Minotaur.

The hard truth settled in him as the light grew ever stronger. The maze didn’t seek cleverness from him; it didn’t need it. It didn’t want his brute strength. It didn’t want something any heir could give it. It wanted something far simpler and far crueler.