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His footsteps echo in the green marble corridors. Elphaba has learned to be silent and elusive as a wisp of smoke, worn in the soles of her shoes until they make little more than soft pads on the stone beneath her, but each clack of Fiyero’s boots is a sharp scratch of fear. Even now, as he leads her along dimly lit passageways, it occurs to her that this could be a terrible trap...
"I thought you might have a plan? When you came here, you surely must have wondered how you were going to get out.”