Not subtly. Not gradual.
The walls locked into configurations that felt permanent in a way the maze hadn't felt permanent for the entire time they'd been inside it, as though something fundamental had changed in the underlying architecture—a decision made, a judgment rendered.
The ceiling rose to comfortable height with the quiet magnanimity of something that had been deliberately withholding that comfort until now. The corridor widened. The constant background sensation of walls that might move at any moment, that had been pressing against the edges of awareness since they entered, simply vanished.
Zeph hadn't realized how much of his attention had been dedicated to tracking that threat until it was gone. The absence felt strange. Almost suspicious.
Ahead where there had been only maze—only dead ends and redirections and corridors that went somewhere different each time you walked them—now there was a clear path. Unambiguous. Singular.
