Again. I run for the window, using my other side to give my shoulder a break. Again. More and more cracks form. Eventually, it has to give. I pick up a sharp splinter of wood and carve a long gash into my arm before swiping it over the glass as the cracks continue spreading.

“Hey!” comes a voice. Tia stands in the doorway, staring at what I’ve done. “You mustn’t do this,” she says, like we’re discussing the weather. I glare at her, and she must see the resolve in my eyes because something spasms in her expression.

“Come!” she yells behind her, finally displaying a sliver of emotion. “The prisoner is escaping!”

She keeps shouting for help, and I’m out of time.

So I back up and launch myself off the far wall, running in a blur towards the window, using all of my weight as I spin up my wings. The glass gives way in a shatter, and I’m almost too surprised to react. Especially as my wings blink out a moment later, my arms and legs windmilling as I start to plunge.

Shit. Shit. I try to spin up my magic again, but it’s gone.

I plummet down, down, and then crash, leaves and branches scraping against my skin. I come to a juddering halt, landing on something both soft and hard, accompanied by the crack of branches. Stunned, I stare up at the sky for several long seconds, realizing a bush cushioned my fall.

Lor’s magic is gone, the sky littered with white clouds and an endless carpet of blue. I tamp down the swell of fear that threatens to choke me. What happened to her?

It takes me a moment to extricate myself from the tangle, and I land on soft grass with one knee planted to the earth. I inhale several long breaths, trying to focus. My body aches, my wrist throbs, and my hands are a bloodied mess. I open my fist and close it again, grunting at a lash of sharp pain. I’m sure I broke something, but it was worth it because I couldn’t stay trapped in that room a moment longer.

Finally, I look around me, taking in my surroundings.

It’s peaceful, everything smooth and perfectly rendered. There’s no other way to describe it. The grass is eerily perfect, with every blade the exact same height and shape. The bush I crashed into is made of thick green leaves that look almost real, but the color feels off. They’re green, but not a green you’d ever find in nature. Every leaf is perfect like they’ve all been cut from the same idealistic pattern of what a leaf should look like.