EMMALINE
The corridor feels endless, stretching on and on, each step pulling me deeper into the cold belly of this place. My bare feet scrape against rough stone, and I can’t tell if it’s my heartbeat or the echo of our footsteps filling the air. The guard says nothing. Not a word when I slow down, not even even when I stumble. He just gestures forward, his hand tight on the hilt of his sword, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.
The smell changes as we walk. The damp, earthy scent fades, replaced by smoke and something sharper—incense, maybe. It stings my nose, thick and heavy, and by the time we stop in front of a set of double doors, my stomach is twisting.
The guard knocks once. The sound rings out, low and hollow, and then the doors creak open.
Light floods the hallway.
I squi
