The corridor beyond the portal pulsed faintly with residual magic, the walls etched with constellations that shifted and shimmered as they walked. It was quieter here — unnervingly so — as though the labyrinth itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to slip.
Verena's boots echoed against the smooth, obsidian-like floor, the only sound aside from Vivienne's cautious footsteps and Isolde's steady stride. The air was thicker here, heavy with tension and faint traces of ozone.
"This feels… different," Vivienne whispered, clutching Verena's sleeve again.
"Yeah, that's not your paranoia talking," Verena replied, eyes scanning the corridor. "This is where things usually get weird."
Isolde's gaze sharpened. "Weird how?"
"Plot armor shatters. Coincidence breaks. The author starts pulling from their trauma folder," Verena muttered under her breath, only half-joking.
