Some corridors lead to freedom. Some lead to answers. This one led to blood, a dagger, and the one person Guinevere Lunaris never saw coming.
She eased the door open with the kind of care usually reserved for infants and live explosives, in that order.
The hallway was empty.
She had legs and was going to goddamn use them and get herself out of this. The crybaby ready to tap out on the cloud was six feet under. What remained was a bitch powered by pure, high-octane fuck-you energy.
And this bad bitch was off to the races.
One stairwell. Left turn. Right turn. Up a flight. This place was a maze but at least it was pretty.
Déjà vu slammed into her mid-step so hard she stopped moving. Her hand went to the wall on instinct, palm flat against the obsidian.
Before she could examine it, voices drifted down the corridor from the opposite direction. She flattened herself against an alcove and stopped breathing like it was a crime.
