Page 20 of The Devil May Care

“Safety from what?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “Getting lost in the big scary palace?”

He nods. “If you wandered, and we had to track you by magical means, it could—”

“End with me dead?” I nod like I understand as my stomach clenches and flips. Or worse. I could find the guards again. Will they have a key to my cell?

“—Taint your assessment and Influence the result.” He scowls. “I told you we don’t mean you harm.”

I ignore him.

“Taint the result…Because I’d be radiating mischief?”

“Because you’d be touched by intent,” he says. “Even our own. The flame will not be able to parse it out meaning it could confuse or conflict with the real reason you are here.”

I stare at the door. It opens before I touch it.

“I don’t like being contained,” I murmur.

“You are not contained.”

I glance at him. “Guest. Prisoner. Test subject. Same hallway, different name.”

“You are free to explore,” he says. “But it’s not encouraged.”

“I’m sure it feels that way from your side.”

He doesn’t flinch.

I step one foot inside the room—lavish from just this first angle. Warm light. Deep color. No bars. But my skin still prickles like something unseen is closing behind me. He turns to leave.

“Wait.” He pauses and I lick my lips. “The stories. The ones we told. About demons. About… you. Do you hate us for that?”

His eyes meet mine. Unmoving. Unblinking.

“No,” he says. “But I do wonder what kind of world needs that many monsters.”

And then—quiet as a shadow—he’s gone. The door seals behind me without a sound. Of course it does. No click. No lock. Just finality. The room has decided I’m in and doesn’t need to try very hard to keep me here. I freeze. That soundless closure shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but it feels so quiet it might as well be mocking me. Like a hand placed gently but firmly on the back of my neck. What if Caziel is wrong?

No need to lock the door, little human. We know you won’t leave.

My chest tightens. I spin on my heel and face the door, except…it’s not there.

The wall is. The space is still framed by rune-marked stone, but the seams are gone. The arch has closed into smooth, uninterrupted rock.

My breath spikes. “Nope.”

I take two quick steps forward and press my palm to the stone. It’swarm. Solid. Completely unresponsive. I try knocking. Then pressing harder. Then, okay, kinda slapping it.

“Open,” I whisper. “Just…open, please.”

Nothing.

Something inside me flickers, sharp and cold. Not quite fear. Not quite rage. More like being cornered. Like walking down a hallway and realizing too late there’s no exit.

“Nope,” I say again, louder now. “I didn’t agree to this.”

I step back, curl my fists, and will myself not to spiral.

You’re not a prisoner. You’re not in danger. This is just a fancy panic room with mood lighting.