Page 108 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

She exhales again, taking a deliberate step back across the grating floor, around the dead body left behind by the demon, to the edge of the room, feeling along the tasseled circle of the trap. It’s more complex as woven, more aspects to it that would’ve taken time and knowledge and preparation for emergencies such as this, then folded and stored for deployment when needed.

It takes a clever Magician to store wards like this, one who specializes in traps and wards. A spellweaver, the sort with a giant loom and no care what their creations were used for, just that they got to create. Chloe had a teacher like that, one who would spin up elaborate traps just for the sheer joy of the act, of the satisfaction that comes with the precision of their abilities. The teacher would stay up all night so they could make something so perfect, just to have Chloe undo it the next day.

Unraveling is far more simple.

Chloe palms the edge of the trap, and it almost feels like a rug in her hand, the different layers of magic so tangible they’re almost as soft as yarn. It’s been stored for years, just to be taken out and used for them.

Killian watches her, sharp behind the new eyes, and she swallows, before ripping it in two.

It unspools with a snap, the magic crackling in the air, flashing bright before vanishing, and Chloe tastes metal in her mouth.

Straightening the narrow shoulders of the body, Killian inhales, as if the weight of the trap had been holding him down, before he nods at Chloe.

“You’re far too good at that,” he says, and it almost sounds like an olive branch.

“They trained me well,” Chloe replies, and the bitterness on her tongue doesn’t fade. They trained her well, then turned around and imprisoned her exactly like they imprisoned everyone else in the base, like they imprisoned the poor person slash maybe demon on the metal table, like they imprisoned the spirit fox.

Swinging her backpack around, she fumbles for the zipper, unrolling her tracking scroll. The paper crackles against her fingertips, and small traces of blood smear on the outside.

Easy to remove once they’re out, but Killian’s attention lays heavy on the marks.

“You can’t argue that you’re not injured this time,” Killian says, his voice low.

“I’ve had worse,” Chloe replies, then approaches the cage, skirting wide around the metal table, where the body listlessly shifts, back to staring up at the ceiling.

At least he’s not screaming anymore.

Her legs shake as she crouches next to the cage on the floor, and Killian smoothly sits next to her, a hand on her back, like he’s able to provide moral support for this.

Chloe spreads the scroll down on the grating floor—it must be grating so they could wash it off from the gore and the blood that would remain after their dissections—and grabs the perfectly cleaned metal muzzle.

Immediately, the grains of sand on the scroll tremble, attuning to the residue left on the steel, impossible to clean off by normal human means.

If they kept the cage here, too, did they try to dissect her friend? To cut her open while still alive?

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Killian murmurs, low, the hand hot through the fabric of her jacket. “Focus on this.”

Like she could do anything else.

Of course, someone else had scanned the muzzle, and it sparks against her fingertips. Someone else had gotten there—or already had access—and slipped into the room to do the same tracking work they’re doing.

Killian inhales, like he’s seeing it too.

“Recent?” he asks, like he’s confirming it.

Chloe nods, still leaning against him.

She can’t quite confirm that it’s the same as the first set of cuffs, but it feels like it. Feels like the same energy symbol, the same person as before.

She pulls out the compass and her blood slicks on that, too, before she holds it against the gleaming muzzle, tying it together.

The compass whirs in her hand, the needle spinning dizzying around the room, before pointing almost due west.

Killian rubs against the small of her back, almost soothing, and even though Chloe is cuddly with her friends, even though she’s the sort to try to lean against them on the couch and hug them whenever possible, it’s been a while since someone gave her the same little bit of comfort back.

It’s almost nice, in the room stained with so much blood, where the very air had been stolen from her and the body of the demon still lay.

She smoothes out the scroll again, the sands of magic vibrating as they absorb the trails from the metal, creasing in the tiny folds of the thin paper, before settling into place.

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