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... y. Not out of courage.I ran because my body already knew that staying meant getting torn apart.

The sounds behind me weren't footsteps — they were claws scraping stone, bones grinding against each other. A chorus of creaks, thuds, and dry snaps closing in with steady rhythm.

I turned left, lungs on fire. The tunnel narrowed, the ceiling dropped in carved stone arches. The floor was made of slick plates, full of dry moss and faded inscriptions that felt like they were watching me ...

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