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One wrong turn, one misstep, and our dreams of freedom would be crushed under the heels of our pursuers.
As we approached another corner, the anticipation made my skin prickle with sweat.
The familiar sound of a guard’s heavy boots echoed closer.
I instinctively started to turn, but Ceara’s hand shot out, halting me just in time.
The warmth of his touch felt reassuring, reminding me of our shared resolve.
We pressed ourselves against the wall, holding our breaths.
The guard passed, the scent of his musky cologne momentarily overpowering the prison’s sterile aroma.
As his footsteps faded, Ceara winked at me.
It was incredible, the things he could do.
His innate ability to see mere moments into the future, while seemingly insignificant at first glance, had been our lifeline more times than I could count.
Our spirits were soaring, every avoided encounter heightening our confidence, but it was short-lived.
Suddenly, the blaring sound of an alarm pierced the silence, instantly flooding my senses.
The harsh red emergency lights illuminated the hallway in a grim, pulsating rhythm, casting an eerie glow that painted everything in shades of crimson.
“Our secret’s out,” I whispered, feeling the weight of our situation press down on me.
Ceara nodded, his brow furrowed. “We need to move faster,” he said, his voice carrying a determination that fortified my spirit.
We sprinted down the corridors, guided by Ceara’s Visions.
The dissonant chorus of alarms, the distant shouts of guards, and our frantic heartbeats provided a frenetic backdrop to our escape.
Our hands brushed together, electric, as we ran.
It was a bond, a promise to each other that we would make it out together.
The warmth of our fleeting touches, the rapid exhale of our breaths — it all blended together, creating a symphony of senses that kept us moving forward.
It was while navigating another junction that we stumbled upon our most formidable obstacle yet — a security checkpoint manned by several guards.
Their glinting armor and the unmistakable hum of charged batons signaled trouble.
Ceara pulled me into a nearby alcove.
My back pressed against the cold metal wall, and the sound of our ragged breaths mingled in the tight space.
“We can’t turn back now,” I murmured, my voice trembling.
Ceara’s gaze locked onto mine, those deep eyes filled with determination and a hint of mischief. “Who said anything about turning back?”
Before I could process his words, Ceara emerged from our hiding spot, pulling me along.
He darted forward, using his gift to anticipate and dodge the guards’ every move.
We weaved through them, their failed attempts to stop us feeling like a dance choreographed in our favor.
As we cleared the checkpoint, I could barely believe what had just happened.
