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“You locked a door behind me.”

“You were attempting to leave.”

“That is what people do when they are not kidnapped.”

He stopped moving, then turned toward me. “Do you want to leave?”

The question caught me off guard.

I looked toward the corridor.

Past it, somewhere beyond two doors and several meters of stone, was open air.

Technically.

I could not smell it. Could not see it. Could not hear anything from outside.

The mountain made the question feel more complicated than it should have.

Then I looked back at him. “Yes.”

“Then leave.”

I stared. “What?”

“The transport is functional.”

“You said people are looking for me.”

“They are.”

“So if I leave, they’ll find me.”

“Probably.”

“That is not a real choice.”

“It is still a choice.”

I stood. “No. It is an option.”

His eyes narrowed. “There’s a difference?”

“Yes.”

“Explain it.”

That surprised me more than it should have.

I crossed my arms. “A choice means I understand what I’m choosing between.”

“You know the risks.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I know what you’ve decided to tell me about the risks.”

His expression hardened slightly.

I kept going.