He suddenly stops pulling me back toward the end of the bridge. Above my heaving breaths, I’m aware of other sounds—Vanguard is muttering about the exit. Maybe it’s trickier to get out of here than he thought it would be.
“You’re right,” Jonah says softly at my ear. “I can’t make this choice for you.”
His arms open, but slowly so I don’t fall forward, allowing me to step out of his hold.
I spin to face him, reading the dismay in his eyes and in his thoughts as I back away from him.
“If Striker was your family,” I say, “you would go after him, too.”
“True.” Jonah glances back at Vanguard. “You should know that we’ll be gone by the time you come out. We will warnwhoever we can of Typhon’s return, but we will not stay. We have our own battles to fight. If you survive, you’ll have to figure out for yourself how to leave the maze. But I’m afraid this will be the last time I see you.”
I’m already at the edge of the bridge, nothing but clouds behind me, and a call to make about the exact location where Striker and the winged creature disappeared into the mist. They could have fallen into another realm, and I can’t afford to miss the spot.
“Pray you don’t see me again,” I say to Jonah before I tip my chin in Vanguard’s direction, “for I would only be there to end you.”
With that, I jump from the bridge, plummeting through the mist.
For all I know, the speed at which time passes will change as I descend. Wherever Striker landed, an hour could have gone by. Even a day. Or maybe it will have been mere minutes.
The clouds abruptly part, and I soar through a dark night toward a field of yellow flowers.
The scene below me is completely still. There is not a puff of air, not a sway of grass, no movement except my own.
Striker kneels within the flowers, his back to me where I land, his shoulders hunched.
The winged creature, who must be Typhon, is also kneeling, facing Striker.
Typhon’s head is bowed, and his right hand is pressed to his chest. His wings are slightly spread, brown leathery appendages seemingly frozen mid-extension. His eyes are closed, so I can’t see what color they are. Long claws are visibly protruding from the hand he holds over his heart. His other hand rests at his side, fist clenched.
Both of Typhon’s hands are covered in blood, but the droplets are suspended in space and don’t fall.
The silence around the two men is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
My heart thumps loudly, a pounding drum in my ears, a horrible beat, and panic… that awful panic… rises within me again.
I step quickly toward Striker, rounding him, needing to see his face. The box he was carrying lies on its side, its lid open, its insides now empty as far as I can see.
Striker’s turned away from me, but I gasp with relief when his whisper breaks through the quiet as I approach.
Oh, thank everything good, he’s alive.
“Fury…” he says, speaking even as the rest of his body remains still. “I have no right… to tell you… to do anything… But my wish for you…”
I’m nearly to him when his shoulders start to sink, the first distinct movement he’s made.
He draws a deep breath before he says, “Never let anyone silence you.”
I dart forward as he tilts away from me. I try to catch him, but he collapses onto his side, and now I can see his chest…
My heart stops. A scream strangles in my throat.
His torso is cut open, his ribs are torn apart, and even within the gore, it’s clear that his heart is gone.
“No!” My scream releases, and it’s a knife cutting through the quiet, snapping the stillness, breaking whatever magic was holding the men in its thrall. “Striker!”
Opposite me, the creature’s eyes fly open, his right hand pulls away from his chest, and I catch a glimpse of his healing skin as it closes over the heart he just consumed.
He roars upright, throwing back his shoulders as his shape changes, his cry of elation echoing around me.
