Page 66 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

The realization settled anyway, heavy and undeniable.

To leave, he had to sacrifice her.

Not her life. Not her blood.

Her presence.

He would have to walk away. To choose the world beyond the Labyrinth knowing it would close tight behind him and leave her exactly where she had always been.

Alone.

Forever.

Because she was his hope now. He didn’t realize it until this moment, but that’s where his hope lied. Where his heart lied. With her. And leaving, giving her up, was the greatest sacrifice he could give up.

Corin swallowed, his throat burning. “It wants me to leave you.” The words were so quiet that he barely heard them over the pounding in his chest, but he saw the moment his words reached her.

She stilled, her spine stiffening.

Slowly, she looked up at him, confusion giving way to something sharper, something wounded. “What?”

“If I go,” he continued, forcing the words that felt heavy as stone out, “I don’t come back. Not now. Not like this. That’s my sacrifice.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “It’s not my pride. It’s not my life. It’s not blood. It’s you.”

Her face went even more pale.

“I won’t be able to be with you,” he finished with a tight voice.

For a heartbeat, he thought she might argue with him. Might deny the meaning of the exit appearing. Might laugh off his silly explanation. Might rage at the cruelty of it.

Instead, her shoulders sank.

“I see,” she said.

The words cut Corin deeply, more than the strike from the Minotaur had.

She straightened, brushing her hands on her skirts, and looked at him fully. There was something in her eyes—pain, he thought. It was raw and unguarded. She probably hadn’t felt this way in a long while, since her hero and family trapped her beneath the ground.

But beneath all of that was something steadier. Acceptance. Understanding.

And he hated that maybe even more.

“It makes sense. This place does not take sacrifices lightly.” She hesitated, then added, almost as if trying to convince him, “You were always meant to leave.”

Corin blinked. “I don’t want to.” The admission broke out of him before he could stop himself. He shook his head, taking a step toward her. “I can’t just—walk away. Not after this. Not after you.”

“You were so close. You could have gotten the Minotaur’s psyche. You could–”

“No,” Corin insisted. “That wouldn’t have done anything. Not truly.”

Ariadne inhaled sharply as the Minotaur leaned into her more. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and meeting Corin’s gaze with more sadness than he was ready to accept.

“You have to leave, heir. You did not come here to stay.”

He laughed weakly, a sound so close to tears. “I didn’t come here to lose you either.”

“You did not come here to find me.”

The bitter truth hurt him. Desperately, he ran through every scenario in his mind, trying to think of a way for him to not lose her. As much as he wanted to leave, maybe even more so, he wanted to never lose sight of her.