“Is there folklore about Daedalus building a second labyrinth in Korea?” He peers into one of the tunnels. “More importantly, are we going to run into the Minotaur down here?”
“Why, chickenshit?” I smirk. “Are you scared?”
“Why should I be scared?” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Your gumiho can take the Minotaur.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t bother explaining that minotaurs are perfectly nice guys. Besides, I wouldn’t mess with the Greeks. Their mythology is part of the US public school curriculum. When it comes down to it, they are harder to kill than a mythical creature only people in Korea know about.
“Do you have a coin?” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should flip for it.”
“Shh.” I press myself against the wall, tugging Ethan beside me. “I hear something.”
The sounds of footfall and a murmur of voices are our only warnings before two men step into the cavern. The twin looks of shock on their faces instantly morph into hard, ruthless masks. These guys aren’t amateurs. Not bothering to ask us who we are or what we’re doing down here, they draw their guns.
Ethan and I jump headlong into the tunnel next to us. Gunshots ring out in rapid succession. Debris of dirt and rock showers down on our heads as the bullets lodge themselves into a wall, too close for comfort. I scramble to my feet and break into a dead run, with Ethan at my heels.
The gunshots continue to echo in the tunnel, ricocheting off the walls. It’s impossible to discern how close the men are—they might still be right behind us. I pick up speed. We didn’t come this far to let some random dudes shoot us. That would be beyond anticlimactic.
When the tunnel forks left and right, I let gut instinct choose the path and push on. Even when I don’t hear them chasing us anymore, I keep running, with Ethan close behind me. I realize this isn’t about losing the bad guys anymore. I wait and wait for him to fall behind, but he doesn’t.
Thoroughly winded, I stop with one hand against the wall and the other on my side. Ethan doubles over with his hands on his thighs, wheezing like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. But he’s right therebeside me. I didn’t hold back, even when my injured thigh burned like hell. I hear the rush of blood pounding in my ears. The nagging suspicions I’ve had since his appearance at Roxy’s ... could they be true? It makes zero sense, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Then whatdoesit mean?
“I thought ... this was the way into the North ...withoutgetting us shot,” he pants.
“Do you see any bullet holes in either one of us? No? I didn’t think so.” I push away from the wall and shuffle down the tunnel. We have to get to the cypress grove. Everything else can wait. “Wedidn’tget shot. We just got shotat.”
Ethan shakes his head at me, not wasting precious oxygen on a response. But he knows I’m right.
“Come on, slowpoke,” I say over my shoulder.
“Slowpoke?”He takes two long strides to catch up with me. “You need to work on your terms of endearment.”
“Yeah?” I smirk. “How doesdumbasswork for you?”
“I preferdingus. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when you call me that.” He grins happily at me, even though he still sounds breathless. “Who do you think those men were? They didn’t seem particularly magical.”
“They’re most likely smugglers, hawking South Korean goods to the North.”
Ethan nods and falls quiet. It’s heartbreaking to see a country torn in half, especially when one side flourishes while the other side struggles to feed its people. Korea had its share of problems before the divide, but at least it was the problems of one nation, one people.
The tunnel at this end is wide enough for us to walk side by side, but it’s far from roomy. Our arms keep brushing against each other’s, and I feel every touch like an electric zap. I held on to my flashlight through the one-sided shoot-out, and I can see Ethan in the dim glow. The man is unfairly hot—pretty much up there with the seraphim, minus the wings. Except you can only ogle perfection for so long before you getbored. With Ethan, his not-quite-straight nose and rugged edges make him infinitely more ogle worthy than a beautiful angel.
My breathing grows shallow, even though we’re not running. These flashes of awareness are inconvenient, not to mention frustrating. I said I wouldn’t act on this attraction—and I won’t. But it’s growing harder and harder to ignore. He catches me staring. I shoot my gaze up to the ceiling, but not before I glimpse a corner of his mouth curving up.
“See anything interesting?” he drawls.
Cocky bastard.“Just making sure the ceiling’s not about to collapse and bury us alive down here.”
“Thank you for that,” he grumbles. “That’s just the mental image I needed.”
“I’m sorry.” Not sorry. “I thought you weren’t claustrophobic?”
He scoffs in disbelief. “Not wanting to be buried alive doesn’t make me claustrophobic.”
I have to admit, being buried alive is not my idea of a good time either. Maybe sinking morale wasn’t the best way to deflect embarrassment. But as we trudge on, the air inside the tunnel changes—lightens. I can smell the mountains nearby. Relief rushes through me. We lucked out and chose the right path.
“Cheer up, Grumpy.” I smile. “We’ll be out in the open soon.”
“Really?” His eyebrows hike up. “Thank God.”
