After what felt like an eternity of awkward struggling, I finally managed to wriggle out from his iron grip. He had clung to me like his life depended on it—arms locked, face buried, zero shame. For a terrifying second, I genuinely thought, 'This is it. I'm going to be strangled by plot armor.'
I had to time my escape like I was defusing a bomb.
Wait…
Wait…
Now—!
The moment his arms loosened even a fraction, I twisted, ducked, and slid out with all the grace of a greased eel. I stumbled back two steps, nearly tripping over a root, but I was free. FREE.
I straightened, panting, and glanced back at him.
Cypher looked… peaceful. Completely knocked out. Not a care in the world. Like he hadn't just almost absorbed me into his ribcage.
"…Wow," I whispered, staring at him in disbelief. "You're supposed to be the protagonist, and yet here you are, unconscious, bound by horny murder vines, and using me as a body pillow."
