Emer

“Do you know how far the wall is from the mines?”
He gave her blank look. She closed her eyes and sighed dramatically.
“From my shaft, it was three hundred sixty-three feet. I had someone measure.”

“So?” Dorian repeated.

“Captain Westfall, how far do slaves make it from the mines when they try to escape?”

“Three feet,” he muttered. “Endovier sentries usually shoot a man down before he's moved three feet.”

The Crown Prince's silence was not her desired effect. “You knew it was suicide,” he said at last, the amusement gone.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to bring up the wall.

“Yes.”
...
“I never intended to escape.”
― Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass