Page 68 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

He drew it out slowly, staring at it as the memory of the missing piece at the entrance surged. Of the way the Labyrinth reacted to him now. Of the strange certainty that had taken root in his chest.

He glanced down at his feet, suddenly feeling the weight of the ball of thread hitting his boot. Following the line of golden thread cast off led his eyes to the archway—to the exit.

Hope hurt, certainly, but it lived.

This isn’t over, he thought.

He closed his hand around the disc tightly and took a step toward the exit.

“I will come back,” he vowed aloud, his voice rough but certain. “I swear it. I will find a way to open this place. I won’t leave you here. I refuse.”

Ariadne cast her eyes to him.

Their eyes met across the chamber—hers shining with grief and something like belief, his burning with resolve.

Then Corin turned and walked into the light.

The stone slid shut behind him with a sound like a held breath finally released.

Darkness gave way to torchlight.

He stumbled forward and found himself standing back in the Hall of Due.

The chamber was empty save for the two priestesses, who watched him in silence and acceptance from their edges of the archway.

There were no cheers, no court, no welcome home. Not even the decorations that lined the hall when he first went through with his trial. Most of them had fallen away or been taken down. Only a few leftover cloths remained, cloths that likely no one could have easily reached.

Just him.

Where was the celebration? Where were the people waiting for him? Where was his family?

Corin straightened slowly, the weight of the Labyrinth still heavy on his skin, the promise of return beating in his chest like a second heart.

He was free.

But he was not done.

XXIV

Corin barely remembered leaving the Hall of Due.

The world beyond the maze felt wrong to him now—too loud, too bright. Too heavy. Each step echoed through his bones as though gravity itself had sharpened its teeth while he was gone.

He passed through empty hallways, searching for someone to talk to, for someone to help him.

He limped along, his body searching for some sort of comfort as his body ached something fierce. He stumbled slightly at one turn, finding the bright light of the sun beating down on him from an opening in the castle walls.

The sun felt welcome on his skin, but entirely wrong. It was stronger than that inside Ariadne’s chamber, and he seemed to miss it at that moment. The calmness in its power. The way it seemed to offer such comfort.

This sun only offered power.

By the time he managed to reach the Great Hall, his legs were trembling and his vision was swimming at the edges. The doors were wide open, his arms immediately thankful to not have to throw any effort into his entrance.

Voices filled the space, shattering the momentary peace of Corin’s head as they pierced his ears. It was full of conversation and laughter, the low murmur of court life that Corin hadn’t heard in days.

And then, all at one, silence crashed down.

He took one step inside.