Mira grabs my hand, a silent vow. We stay together as long as possible.
The other women scatter their own ways, but Mira and I stay on the straight path, heading forward into the dimly lit maze.
“This place is massive,” I whisper, hearing the tremor in my own voice as I glance around the sprawling labyrinth. The gray silk dress I’d been given clings uncomfortably to my curves, the flimsy material offering little protection against the chill.
Mira nods beside me, her eyes narrowing with concentration. I can practically see her mind working, cataloging each turn, each corridor, building a mental map. Left turn, straight corridor, another left. Always the journalist, even now.
“The other women scattered quickly,” I observe.
Bianca had disappeared down the first right turn we encountered, her expression unreadable. Keira and Sadie went left together, finding strength in numbers. And Lia—God, Lia had laughed before sauntering down the center path alone, hips swaying with a confidence I can’t begin to understand.
“Good,” Mira murmurs beside me. “Fewer variables to worry about.”
I want to laugh at that—as if this is just another story she’s investigating, as if we’re not dressed in practically nothing, about to be hunted like animals. But I understand her need to compartmentalize. It’s the only way to stay sane.
The maze feels like it’s watching us. Stone gargoyles peer down from alcoves, their grotesque expressions seeming to follow our movements. Every shadow shifts with the flickering torchlight, making the hairs on my arms stand up. This place reeks of old money and power—the Blackwood legacy written into every carefully crafted corner.
My father would have a field day with this place. The thought almost makes me smile, almost.
The corridor ahead branches into three paths, and I reach out instinctively, touching Mira’s arm. My fingers are trembling. “Which way?”
Before she can answer, a sound fills the maze that makes my entire body go rigid—a low, resonant alarm that echoes off the stone walls and vibrates through my chest. It feels ancient and primal, like a call to hunt.
My stomach twists violently.
“They’re coming,” Mira breathes.
The alarm cuts off, leaving behind a silence that feels hungry, expectant.
“Mira—” My voice breaks, crumbling like sand. I’ve been in politically dangerous situations before, but nothing like this, nothing that made me feel so exposed, so hunted.
She pulls me against her, fierce and protective. I can feel that she’s trembling too. It’s oddly comforting to know I’m not alone in my fear.
“We stick together,” she whispers into my ear, determination hardening her voice. “As long as possible, okay? Whatever happens, we don’t separate.”
I nod, trying to swallow the lump of fear in my throat. My eyes dart between the three paths ahead, calculating, weighing options. This is just like politics, I tell myself. Assess, decide, commit. Except the stakes are infinitely higher.
“Stay close,” Mira whispers, choosing the middle path.
We move together in silent tandem, the cold marble floor numbing my bare feet. Every shadow seems to shift and breathe with malicious intent. I find myself wishing I’d paid more attention to my father’s security team when they discussed evasion tactics.
The silence between us is heavy. I find myself instinctively moving closer to Mira, our shoulders touching as we navigate a narrow section. I trust her more than anyone else in this maze.
Then we hear it.
Footsteps—confident, unhurried, deliberate—echoing off stone walls somewhere behind us.
“Oh God—” My breath catches, panic flooding my system like ice water.
The footsteps grow louder, more distinct. They’re not trying to hide their approach. Theywantus to hear them coming. Theywantus to run.
“Run,” Mira breathes, but my body is already moving.
Pure instinct takes over as I bolt to the right, primal fear propelling me forward. The silk dress streams behind me as I round a corner, my heart thundering in my ears.
I hear Mira call my name, but it’s too late—I’ve already broken our pact to stay together. Shame floods me even as I keep running, my instincts screaming at me to stop, to think, to strategize. But my body refuses to listen.
I race down a corridor that stretches endlessly before me, torchlight blurring as I pass. Suddenly, my foot catches on an uneven stone, and I stumble, throwing my hands out to catch myself against the wall.
