[Editing]
The silver-blue light from the corridor ahead seemed to pulse in time with their steps, casting shifting patterns along the smooth stone floor as Verena and Beatrice walked in tandem. The air was still tense, saturated with that heavy hum of latent magic that never seemed to ease within the Labyrinth. But compared to the suffocating weight of before—the misunderstandings, the distance—it felt manageable now. Fragile, but manageable.
Verena kept her eyes ahead, trying to focus on the path rather than the lingering warmth of Beatrice's presence beside her. "So," she finally broke the silence, voice light with forced nonchalance, "how many near-death experiences have you had so far? I've lost count."
Beatrice exhaled, the faintest smile curling her lips. "Only three. I've been holding back."
Verena snorted. "Overachiever."
Despite everything—their messy history, the bitterness, the regret—this felt almost…normal. And that unsettled Verena more than the labyrinth itself.
