If there was a world record for worst week, Guinevere Lunaris was lapping the competition and the finish line wasn't even in sight. She had survived lashes, a dungeon heist, an eight-hundred-mile run, and a blade at her throat. This should have been nothing.
It wasn't nothing.
A guard was storming towards her wearing glow-in-the-dark armor and yelling at her when all she was trying to do was escape her abduction.
"Stop right there!"
Part of her wanted to stop because she was a rule follower at heart. The rational part of her said move, ho, and her legs agreed. She shot around the corner out of view and cleared the railing downward before he came around.
The sound of his boots thundered above, missing her completely.
She waited.
Her heartbeat was so loud she was convinced it would give her away before the light did. Every inhale was too fast, too shallow, pulling air that wasn't reaching her lungs. She was running on adrenaline fumes and the fumes were thinning.
WHOOOM.
