He taps the panel again and the obstacles multiply, a cascade of barriers that spreads too fast for me to anticipate.
“Stop thinking and choose the next turn.”
“I’m—I am choosing quickly, I just?—”
“Then choosefaster, for fuck’s sake.”
I point to a branching route with a narrow bend. Lord Castor adjusts the projection so the bend compresses even tighter, almost to nothing.
He circles me slowly as the maze rotates in the air. Each step is deliberate and smooth. He doesn’t fidget the way some commanders do. He keeps his weight forward, his attention everywhere at once, ready to move before anything else can.
“Jupiter soldiers learn to make decisions in half seconds,” he says. His voice is flat, instructional. “We drill it until it’s reflex. Until your body moves before your brain catches up.”
The maze flickers again and the entire left quadrant collapses, leaving only one route open. I reach for it and Lord Castor lifts a hand.
“This is the part you need to understand, Princess.”
He enters a manual override and the projection freezes. Then, with a slow gesture, he draws a line through the space between two corridors, a clean arc of light that hovers in the air between us. He traces it with the same control he uses in combat drills.
“I lost a squad because I hesitated.” His voice doesn’t change. No emotion bleeds through. “Ash fields, first ever deployment. Snipers in every direction … and I had a shot. A clean angle. But I wanted confirmation – wanted someone to tell me I was right.”
He marks another small point in the air. “That pause cost my team their lives. Seven soldiers bled out in that canyon while I waited for command to give me permission to do what I already knew I had to do.”
There’s no break in his voice, no pain that slips through. He delivers it like coordinates, tactical data that needs to be understood.
“That’s why Jupiter doctrine is what it is.” He dismisses the projection with a sharp gesture. “If your leader falters, you take command. If the team slows, you force the pace. If a choice needs making, you make it and accept whatever comes after.”
He steps closer, his hazel eyes locked on mine. “So, here’s the deal. If you falter in the Mirror tomorrow, I take command. No debate. No hesitation. I move and you follow.”
I hold his gaze. He expects resistance – expects pride or fear or both.
“Fine,” I say. “But while I lead, you don’t undermine me. You don’t split the team to pursue your own strategy. You don’t set your own pace and leave the others behind.”
He stops moving. For the first time since I walked in, he goes completely still.
The machinery continues its steady hum around us. The maze shifts through new configurations. The gravity plates adjust again, a subtle change in pressure under my feet.
Lord Castor studies me with focus that feels sharpened, assessing.
“Deal,” he says.
He steps off the platform and starts toward the exit. I watch as he stops suddenly just before the door.
“I reacted before I could think in the first trial.” His voice is low, his head bowed slightly as he faces away from me. “I didn’t intend to hurt Zevran. Perhaps that was a moment where hesitation could have helped.” Then he moves through the door without looking back.
I understand Lord Castor now. Not personally, not deeply, but enough.
Tomorrow, when we enter that maze, hesitation could cost us everything.
I just have to lead quickly enough that he doesn’t have time to doubt me.
One down. Two to go.
Ren walks me to the Neptune wing carved into the side of the arena complex. The corridor narrows as we descend, the architecture shifting from the functional pragmatism of the main arena to a more organic material. Walls curve like the interior of a shell, smooth and cool to the touch. The lights grow dimmer the farther we go, shifting from steady white to soft teal, then to a deep blue that feels like the inside of a quiet ocean cave. The air changes too – humid and warm, carrying the faint scent of salt.
Two Neptune aides, both clad in deep blue robes, lead us to a room down one of the halls. When the doors open, Lady Nerida stands barefoot on the tiled floor of a circular chamber. The room is filled with a pool that stretches wall to wall, the surface perfectly still like glass. Bioluminescent patterns pulse faintly beneath the water, tracing designs across the bottom in soft blues and greens. The air is thick with moisture that clings to my throat when I breathe.
Lady Nerida doesn’t smile. Doesn’t bow. She lifts a hand and beckons me forward. “You came. Good.”
