Adrian’s Escape
Adrian paced his cell, every muscle in his body screaming with exhaustion. He’d spent the last few hours exploiting the crack in the stone wall, prying at it with his limited strength. The weakened mortar had started to give, but he knew time was running out.
The guards’ patrols were sporadic but frequent enough to keep him on edge. His ears sharpened for every sound—a scuff of boots, the clink of armor, or the faint hiss of Misery’s voice. She’d visited him less frequently since the King’s last display of power, but the moments she did appear lingered in his mind.
“You won’t get far,” she had said during her last visit, her blade flashing in the torchlight. “Even if you escape, you’ll only run into more chains.”
But Adrian knew better. He’d studied this dungeon during his confinement, memorized every sound, every shadow. Tonight was the night.
The sound of footsteps approached, heavier and more deliberate than the usual guard patrol. Adrian froze, pressing himself against the wall. The light of a torch illuminated the corridor outside his cell, revealing Misery’s silhouette.
“You’re looking determined,” she remarked, her voice carrying a faint note of sarcasm. “Planning something?”
Adrian smirked faintly. “Always.”
Misery stepped closer to the bars, her gaze assessing. “The King would kill you for even trying.”
“He’s going to kill me anyway,” Adrian shot back, his voice low.
Misery tilted her head, her crimson eyes gleaming. “That’s what makes this so interesting.” She reached into her cloak, pulling out a small dagger. “You’ve always been resourceful, Adrian. Let’s see how far that gets you.”
Adrian tensed as she tossed the dagger onto the floor just inside his reach. Her expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the flicker of something unspoken in her eyes.
“Why?” he asked quietly.
Misery’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual venom. “Call it a whim.”
Before Adrian could press further, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the shadows.
Adrian wasted no time, retrieving the dagger and returning to the crack in the wall. He worked quickly, the blade chipping away at the mortar as his vampiric strength forced the stones apart. His fingers bled as he pried them loose, but he didn’t stop.
Finally, the wall gave way, revealing a narrow tunnel beyond. Adrian slipped through, his movements swift and silent. The air in the tunnel was damp and cold, the darkness pressing against him like a living thing.
As he emerged into a wider corridor, the faint sound of a bell echoed through the dungeon—a signal of his escape. The King’s guards would be on him soon.
Adrian sprinted through the labyrinthine passages, his heart pounding. He had no plan beyond escaping the King’s reach, but the thought of Lyra and Eryon pushed him forward.
At the dungeon’s exit, a lone figure stood waiting—Misery, her blade drawn.
“You won’t get far,” she said, her tone almost playful.
Adrian braced for a fight, his hands curling into fists. “You going to stop me?”
Misery studied him for a long moment, then lowered her blade. “Not tonight,” she said softly.
Adrian stared at her, disbelief flashing across his face. “Why are you doing this?”
“Consider it a favor,” Misery replied, her voice quiet. “But you’ll owe me for it.”
Without another word, she stepped aside, her expression unreadable. Adrian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then bolted past her into the night.
