A faint scraping sound echoes behind me—shoes against concrete.
My heart lurches into my throat. Someone’s following me.
“Shit, shit, shit.” The word becomes a desperate mantra as panic surges through my veins.
I push my legs harder, sprinting blindly down the corridor. My lungs scream in protest, already burning from exertion. The thin fabric of my torn dress clings to my sweat-slicked skin as I careen around another corner, slamming my shoulder into the wall. Pain blooms across my collarbone, but I can’t slow down.
Is it Dominic? Or Liam? Or maybe the gambler with the knowing smile? It doesn’t matter. All three want to use me as a weapon against my father.
My breath comes in ragged gasps now, too shallow to fill my lungs. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. I can’t keep this pace—I’ll pass out.
Stumbling into a narrow alcove, I press myself against the wall and slide down until I’m crouching in the shadows. My chest heaves violently as I gulp for air. Each desperate breath sounds thunderous in the confined space—harsh, ragged inhales followed by wheezing exhales.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the noise, but it’s impossible. I might as well be screaming my location to anyone within fifty feet.
“Calm down,” I whisper against my palm. “Think, Cora.”
My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out any approaching footsteps. I need to quiet my breathing, but panic keeps my lungs working like bellows, sucking in air with embarrassing volume.
I focus on taking slower breaths through my nose, struggling to regain control. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Gradually, the roaring in my ears subsides, allowing the silence of the maze to filter back in—along with the realization of how exposed I am.
I push off from the wall, forcing my trembling legs to move. I can’t stay here. The clock is ticking on my head start.
The darkness plays tricks on my eyes, shadows morphing into human shapes that vanish when I blink.
A sharp stitch forms in my side, but I push through the pain. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is both a blessing and a curse—keeping me moving while heightening every sensation to an almost unbearable degree. The concrete floor feels harsh beneath my feet, each impact jarring through my exhausted body.
I take another turn, then another, moving purely on instinct now. The knowledge that I’m being truly hunted sends fresh waves of panic through me.
That’s when I hear it—footsteps. No longer the phantom sounds of my imagination but real, rhythmic thuds against concrete. Someone’s gaining on me.
I push myself harder, ignoring the burning in my muscles, the ragged edge to my breathing. The corridor stretches long ahead of me, no turns in sight. I’m exposed, vulnerable, a target running down a shooting gallery.
The footsteps grow louder. Closer.
As I reach the end of the corridor, desperation forces me to look back.
Ryder. He’s moving with purpose, his eyes locked on me.
“Shit,” I gasp.
“Cora, wait!” he calls. “I’m not like them. I’m the good one. I can help you.”
His face seems sincere, almost concerned. For a fraction of a second, hope flickers—maybe there’s a way out, maybe he’s telling the truth.
Then I remember his eyes when they surrounded me. How he stood with the others discussing me like I was property. How he smiled when Dominic touched me.
“Bullshit,” I whisper, and I run.
I bolt away from Ryder’s voice, desperation propelling me forward. My lungs feel like they’re collapsing, each breath a knife sliding between my ribs.
“Cora!” His voice bounces off the walls.
I reach an intersection and take a sharp right without thinking. The corridor narrows, forcing me to slow, my fingers trailing along the cold wall for guidance. The darkness feels thicker here.
My heart hammers so violently I’m certain it’s audible, broadcasting my location with each frantic beat. Sweat burns my eyes and plasters what’s left of my dress to my body. The bruise on my jaw throbs in rhythm with my pulse.
Another intersection looms ahead. Right again. The turns blur together as panic overrides logic. Am I running deeper into the maze or toward an exit? Toward Mira or away from her? The questions swirl uselessly as my body moves on pure animal instinct—run, hide, survive.
