It's an odd thing, finding yourself alive after you'd spent the last several weeks wagering, with reasonably good odds, that you'd die inside a fortress lined with enough curses to make a banshee blush. Stranger still was being alive, alone, and completely, gloriously uncontrolled. Not a magical string, not a shadow whisper, not even a single, smug Azael monologue ringing in my skull.
Just me, the night air, and the muffled sound of my heart thudding against the inside of my ribs like an overeager drummer at a festival.
Freedom, as it turned out, was both exhilarating and absolutely terrifying.
I ran until my lungs burned, until the lights of Azael's fortress faded behind me and the only company I had were the distant howls of shadow creatures who would, I assumed, shortly be subjected to Azael's "motivational" speeches for failing to recapture me. I did not envy them. In fact, I offered them a moment of silent pity.
But mostly, I was busy trying not to collapse.
