“Get in there!” the guard barked. A rough shove sent me sprawling, my body cracking against the unforgiving stone with a jolt that stole my breath. The cell door clanged shut, a sound of grim reality. Instantly, the air, thick with the musty odor of damp mold and despair, filled my senses. Light was pale, filtering through a single, high, narrow window.

A long moment passed with me still on the floor, a frantic kaleidoscope of disbelief and resentment whirling through me. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it happened before. In my last life, I’d navigated the court by keeping my distance from Dolion, from all its venomous intrigue. I was a phantom at functions, attending only when absence was more dangerous, a silent observer. He was never poisoned.

My hands fisted the soft fabric of my dress until my knuckles were white and aching. Such a seemingly insignificant alteration in my path, and already the ripples were tidal waves. It was a stark lesson: expect nothing to align with the past. The lunch scene flashed behind my eyes: Dolion, abruptly excusing himself. What had transpired in that sliver of time? And the antidote—how had it materialized with such speed, as if orchestrated?

Rising unsteadily, I began to pace the cramped confines, a caged animal. My fingers, trembling slightly, combed through my disheveled hair, snagging on a stubborn knot. Just like my life now, I mused grimly, a tangled mess, and I’ve only just been thrust back into existence.

Yet, beneath the oppressive bleakness, a defiant spark ignited deep within me. Who was the manipulator? Dolion, for all his eccentricities, wasn’t unhinged enough to poison himself, even if his sudden departure was a bizarre coincidence. Blair? The name surfaced, only to be dismissed. No, she wouldn’t expend the effort; her methods were brutally direct, not subtly insidious.

I forced myself to consider the noble families. Which harbored a simmering hatred for Dolion, or sought my removal? The list of potential enemies, on either count, was unnervingly vast, sending an icy shiver down my spine. I leaned against the cold stone wall, its chill seeping into my bones. The cell beside mine gaped empty; across the narrow corridor, more vacant cells stared back at a solid stone expanse. I rested my head against the wall, its coolness a faint balm. No obvious escape presented itself, no matter how desperately I scanned the grim confines.

A small, shaky sigh escaped me, my gaze falling to the familiar bracelet my mother had given me. I spun it slowly on my wrist, a tiny, tangible link to a life that felt worlds away. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to meticulously replay every second, every glance. I had to have missed something vital.

I didn’t know how much time had bled away, lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts, but it was enough for my body to ache from its prolonged contact with the cold stone. Just as I was about to lever myself up, a guard’s gruff voice cut through the silence. “We don’t take bribes here.”

Another voice, smoother, deeper, replied, “Consider this, then, a simple token of appreciation for your diligence.”

Echoing footsteps drew closer. Soon, a guard, his sword a heavy, ominous presence at his side, materialized before my cell, accompanied by a figure shrouded in a dark cloak.

“You have twenty minutes,” the guard stated, his tone flat, leaving no room for argument. “No more. Be out before the shift change.”

The cell door groaned open, and the cloaked figure slipped inside. The guard promptly relocked it. “Twenty minutes!” he called back over his shoulder, his footsteps already receding.

I scrambled to my feet, my eyes straining to pierce the suffocating gloom. The dim light rendered the figure a mere silhouette until they reached up with both hands and slowly, deliberately, pulled down the hood.

“Oh, Thalia!”

That voice – I knew it instantly. “Amelia?” A wave of relief so potent it nearly buckled my knees washed over me.

She peered at me, her expression etched with raw concern in the faint light. “Are you hurt? They didn’t harm you, did they?” she whispered, her voice taut with worry.

“I’m okay, Amelia,” I tried to reassure her, though my voice was a rough rasp. “Unpleasant, certainly, but I’ve endured worse. Is Dolion… is he alright?”

“He is,” she confirmed, a small, shaky sigh escaping her. “The antidote was administered so quickly it had little time to truly take hold.”

“Thank goodness,” I breathed. “Do they know what poison it was?”

She shifted, her gaze darting to the door. “It was Breathbane,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It constricts the lungs, a slow, agonizing suffocation.”

“Whoever targeted Dolion holds a profound grudge against him.”

“Profound,” she echoed, shaking her head, her expression grim.

“And the King?” I asked, a cold dread coiling in my stomach. “Does he truly believe I did this?”

Amelia hesitated, her silence heavy. “No, Thalia. Your father doesn’t believe you’re capable of it. He knows you better than that. But with the evidence stacked so convincingly… he isn’t inclined to intervene.”

“Of course, he isn’t,” I said, a bitter, almost soundless laugh escaping me. The man had me executed in my last life. A more pressing thought pierced through my resentment. “How far has word of this spread?”

“The King has imposed a strict silence; only those present at the dinner know the details,” Amelia explained. “No one wants to risk their neck by speaking out of turn—the price for such a transgression is well understood. I’ve already begun searching for evidence to exonerate you. They were meticulous, but even the most careful hands leave traces.”

A memory, sharp and sudden, surfaced: the Forester family. I recalled their disgrace, an incident involving Dolion in the courts, something that had occurred years from now in my previous life. “Amelia,” I said urgently, gripping her arm. “The Forester family. Can you investigate them? I remember something… something significant concerning them and Dolion… from the future I recall.”

“I will,” she promised, her hands finding mine, giving them a light, reassuring squeeze. “I will get you out of here, Thalia. Trust me. Your destiny isn’t to die here.”

A sharp rap on the cell bars made us both jump. The guard’s voice, impatient, sliced through the air. “Time’s up! Out!”

“Be safe,” I whispered, as Amelia gave my hands one last, firm squeeze before turning. The door creaked open, she slipped out, and it clanged shut again, plunging me once more into oppressive solitude.

I sank back against the wall. The sun had long surrendered, and now the moon, a sliver of cold comfort, peeked through the small, barred window, casting meager, skeletal shadows. The silence of the cell pressed down, a physical weight, yet, in that fleeting moment, a fragile sliver of peace had settled within me.

Then, it shattered. A sudden, searing pain, as if an invisible lance had pierced my chest, stole my breath. I gasped, my hand flying to the spot, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress as if to claw out the agony. Panic, cold and swift, surged through me. The pain is intensifying. Am I dying? Here? Now?

Through the sudden, deafening ringing in my ears, a whisper reached me. It was so faint, so ethereal, I almost dismissed it as a figment of pain-addled imagination. “…help…”

Was that…? The agony in my chest ratcheted tighter, my breathing becoming a ragged, desperate battle for each inhale. This time, the voice was a fraction louder, seeming to emanate from the stone wall to my right.

A ragged, phantom voice pleaded, or perhaps commanded, “…get closer…” Was it real? Or was the torment twisting my senses into knots?

Despite the confusion, the voice pulled at me with an undeniable, desperate urgency. I don’t understand what’s happening. Clutching at the echo of that desperate sound, the sheer need in it, I staggered to my feet, stumbling towards the wall. My hand shot out, more to catch my fall than by conscious design, my palm pressing flat against the cold, unyielding stone.

The voice was nearer now, almost a breath in my ear, yet distinctly on the other side of the thick, unyielding wall. “Thalia…”

The sound of my name, spoken with such fragile urgency, was the last thing I clearly registered. The pain in my chest exploded, a nova of agony radiating through every nerve. My knees buckled. My vision swam, black spots dancing before my eyes as cold sweat beaded on my forehead.

And then the cold, unforgiving stone floor rushed up to meet me.