Chapter 191: In The Corridor
The corridor stretched out before him, narrow as a poorly healed vein. The smell of mold was sharper here, mingling with the scent of his own blood still trickling down his arms.
Barefoot on the cold stones, Dylan moved with muffled steps. He had no plan, just momentum—that raw, bodily impulse, that methodical rage that had replaced fear. The silence weighed heavy, punctuated only by water dripping from the ceiling like a broken clock counting time that no longer belonged to him.
He followed one corridor, then another.
Pipes ran along the walls, breathing in fits and starts, as if the bowels of the place were still alive. This wasn’t an ordinary prison. It was something else. A place designed to erase.
Then he reached a crossroads.
Three openings. Three gaping maws. Each exhaled a different air, barely perceptible. To the left, a warm, heavy breeze, almost oily. In the center, the air was stagnant, unmoving. To the right, a sharper, drier draft carried the scent of iron and rust.
He stopped, his heart pounding in his temples. No sound, no clue. No trace of footsteps, light, or movement.
Just silence.
Oppressive.
Dylan took half a step back, as if the space were already swallowing him. His eyes flicked from one corridor to the next. He didn’t know which one led to the surface. He didn’t even know if there was a surface. Maybe all of this was just an endless belly, a womb of walls and chains.
His fist tightened around the key still clutched in his palm. Only one way out. But which?
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.