Two Eyes Cenote [m] Adder

He stood free. Free of his cell when moments ago he had asked for this very thing and was denied. Yet now, without warning, here he was, unshackled and untethered. What manner of game was this? What twisted trick lay hidden beneath the surface of the woman’s foreseeing gaze? The now ex-prisoner studied her, suspicion curling like smoke in his mind, the last reserves of his energy working to strike off potential schemes.

Why free him now?

His eyes narrowed to slits, a cold, deadly light glinting in their depths. If this is some sort of trick or trap, Machiavelli began, his voice low and calm, we will travel to hell together— I do not intend to go alone. He paused, searching her face, reading for even the faintest hint of emotion, However, if your intentions are genuine, you will walk with me and explain why I was imprisoned.

Without waiting for her response, the beast snatched up his soiled bag, padding up the corridor on cautious, featherlight steps. His body clung low to the ground, every sense on high alert. He was certain that if he was still too long the woman would see the shake that clung to his paws, the weariness that lined his face. His threat held venom but lacked the power needed to call it a promise.

She followed him, and although it was faint, this was not realized without a glimmer of relief. There was only one place they could speak without fear of being found or overheard and it was there that Machiavelli crept, making use of the hidden most servant's pathways until they arrived to his chamber and the boulder that marked the garden's entrance was pushed aside.

After you.