“What?”
“Trust me! On your backs. Lift your feet!”
They hesitate, and the wolf lunges.
I shove them both down. We hit the earth, and gravity bends.
The floor tilts like a hinge snapping open, and we slide backward—upward—through the gap. My breath catches as we’re thrown through an archway. The moment we land, the portal seals behind us, leaving the beast howling on the other side.
Screams pierce the air, and we run. The ground quakes beneath our feet. The path splits—left or right.
“Right!” Mariel yells.
“No—left is right!” I grab her arm, dragging her along.
“What does that mean?” she shouts back.
“Trust me!”
We sprint left, and there they are—Elena and Seraphina huddled over Vivian’s crumpled form. Blood stains the stone beneath her.
I drop to my knees. “Vivian?”
Her lashes flutter.
“She’s alive,” I breathe.
“Barely,” Mariel says, already beside me. She doesn’t hesitate—her fingers find Vivian’s throat with practiced precision, pressing, assessing. “The blade just missed her carotid artery.” Her jaw tightens.
Mariel doesn’t look up. She grips the fabric of her skirt andtears it cleanly, the sound sharp and final. She folds the cloth once—twice—then presses it carefully to the gash, her touch firm but deliberate. “Pressure,” she murmurs, as if this is something she’s done before. “Steady. Don’t let it pulse.”
“I need more,” I shout. “Cloth—anything!”
My palms are slick with Vivian’s blood. Her skin is wax-pale, her breaths shallow and uneven. Elena stands frozen a few paces away, horror widening her eyes. Meanwhile, Seraphina watches in silence—head tilted, expression unreadable. As if this is an inconvenience, not a life bleeding out at our feet.
Cassy moves first. She tears a strip from the hem of her dress and tosses it to us. “Here!”
Mariel uses it to secure the bandage, wrapping itcarefully around Vivian’s neck and shoulder, tying it as tight as she dares. She pauses, checks her breathing, then adjusts the knot with precise restraint.
“It’s not fatal,” Mariel says quietly. “Not yet.” A tremor slips through her voice, betraying the calm she’s fighting to maintain. “If we can keep the bleeding under control, she might live.”
Might.
“What happened?” I demand, my hands shaking as I press down on the wound.
“She panicked,” Seraphina says coolly. “Turned her blade on herself.”
The lie lands like a slap.
Cowards. Both of them.
The maze responds. Wind surges through the corridors, howling like something enraged. Stone grinds against stone as the walls shift and groan, closing in. Watching us. Testing us.
As if it’s waiting to see who we’ll save.
The game has changed. We can’t just try to outlast the night. If we don’t find our way out—and soon—Vivian will die.
Then the walls begin to move. The hedge pulses around us, closing in as if to crush us.
