The cheating piece of trash is currently leaning against a food truck, one arm draped to the side in an easy, confident sprawl.A woman beside him giggles, tilting her head up at him like he’s the highlight of her night.
He’s charming enough, handsome enough—surface-deep beauty that age hasn’t yet managed to dent. And it took him all of seven minutes to find himself another lover.
I tilt my head, observing from afar. We’re too far to hear the words, but we don’t need to, because the script is predictable. A few meaningless jokes, a touch here, a glance there, enough alcohol to blur her caution, and then he’ll lead her somewhere private.
A smile curls onto my lips as I imagine peeling back the layers of his mind. He’s convinced tonight is just another indulgence before he goes home to his wife and their two golden, precious children.
He has no idea she knows—or that she asked for this.
There’s a singular thrill in this—carrying a plan in your pocket while they stumble around blind in their own arrogance. Knowing exactly how the story ends while they still believe they’re untouchable.
We eat the last bites of our food and toss the empty boxes into a nearby trash can. The sound barely fades before a chorus of shrill screams erupts ahead. A group of women bolts out of the haunted house, hair flying, faces contorted in theatrical fear. A performer dressed as a broken porcelain doll lurches after them, emitting a guttural, unnatural growl.
My smile stretches wider.
Soon, these harmless little screams will twist into something that doesn’t stop when the lights go out.
Soft giggles driftthrough the labyrinth, brushing against my ear like tiny ripples of sound bouncing off the warped walls. I steady my hand, easing the knife free with a quiet click that barely disturbs the darkness. Hidden in a shadowed corner, I watch the woman enter and run around the place, a hopeful shimmer sparking in her eyes.
He gave her a head start—thirty full seconds to run and hide before he hunts her down and delivers exactly the fantasy she wants.
She spins in place, trying to decode the labyrinth. In here, sound shifts in strange ways, like the room itself is holding its breath. Every wall reflects her, but none of them tell the truth. One mirror stretches her into a spindly, long-limbed creature; the next crushes her midsection into a toy-like stub; another chops the top half of her head off unless she angles herself just right.
Nothing is stable. Nothing is real.
Slowly, she drifts toward my corner. The light doesn’t reach here. The LED strips angle away, leaving this space washed in charcoal gray. Even the mirrors here differ: the reflections look muted, dim, as if the silver beneath the glass is decaying. These panels don’t distort for fun—they obscure, like memories trying to fade.
She leans forward, listening for footsteps. She expects him to cheat, to chase early, to break his own rules just to prove he wants her. I can almost feel her pulse quicken at the thought, her nerves crackling with anticipation.
All of them are painfully predictable. A labyrinth full of distorted reflections, and still, she is easier to read than a picture book.
My lips twitch when she finally crosses the threshold of my corner. I shift to the side, creating just enough space for her to step inside. She stretches a hand outward before following with her body, another bubbly giggle spilling from her chest.
My movement is clean, instinctive, and practiced through years of repetition. My arm snakes around her throat, dragging her back against my chest, pinning her with a grip that leaves no room for questions. She sucks in a startled breath, but it cuts off when the cold line of my blade kisses her skin.
“Try to scream, and I’ll slice your neck before you can even make it,” I whisper.
A violent shudder courses through her. The arousal he sparked in her—the staged fear, the playful dread from their little chase—vanishes in an instant. Real fear takes hold, bright and sharp, surging through her like electricity. Her heartbeat slams against my blade, a frantic rhythm begging for mercy, begging not to be stopped.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” she manages, her voice thick with tears. One falls onto my hand, cold against my heated skin. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“There’s a spare exit near here. Walk straight ahead, then turn left. One of the mirrors sticks out slightly—black frame surrounding it. Go through that door. Leave and don’t come back. Understand?”
She isn’t our target. Normally, I don’t bother with sparing anyone who wanders into my path, but tonight I’m in the mood to be generous.
Let this be her warning for the rest of her life: do not follow charming strangers into unknown places.
“Okay,” she whispers, swallowing hard. I feel the motion travel down her throat, and something sharp flicks through me, an urge I have to force myself to choke down before it becomes a cut I can’t take back.
I pull the blade from her skin and shove her forward. She hesitates for a heartbeat, then moves. The moment her heels hit the glass floor, they start clicking loudly, a frantic staccato racing toward the exit without once daring to look behind her.
I sigh softly and drag the back of my hand across my forehead, clearing away the thin sheen of sweat.
A door opens and closes somewhere deeper in the maze. A smile sharpens across my face the instant I catch the cheap cologne that floods in after him.
“Lylaaaa,” he drawls, his voice booming through the space, bouncing off glass like an ugly echo.
I could have let Dante handle all of this alone, but the thought makes me laugh. How would I possibly sit outside eating snacks while he got to have all the fun in here?
