I stare at the empty space where Gyon stood. My mouth is dry. My body’s still trembling, and my mind can’t decide whether to be terrified orthrumming.
Whoever he is, he wasn’t like the Maze.
He wasn’t part of the show.
Hebrokeit.
And for one impossible heartbeat, I think he brokeme,too.
CHAPTER 6
GYON
The world comes back in pulses of blue pain. Each beat sears through my muscles, crawls under my skin, and leaves a bitter metallic taste in my mouth. The electricity crackles in my bones like trapped lightning. I’m lying in a pool of my own steam, breathing smoke.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am.
Then I smell her.
Faint. Sweet. Humans. Liora.
Myjalshagar.
The word burns through me again like a fever. I don’t understand why she affects me this way, why her scent cuts through ozone and death like light slicing darkness. I only know it’s true. Every instinct screamsmine.
And she’s gone.
Husker took her.
The maze hums, smug and alive. I press my palm to the floor, feel the vibration of hidden machinery purring underneath, mocking me. The static still dances along my arms, residual current crackling at my fingertips. My claws twitch involuntarily, eager to carve something that bleeds.
I get to my feet, unsteady but functional. Pain’s a comfort; it means I’m still dangerous. I can work with danger.
“Enjoying the show?” Husker’s voice oozes from the vents—bright, glib,smiling.“Our audience can’t get enough of you, Reaper. Ratings through the roof! You’re the crowd favorite!”
I bare my teeth at the ceiling. “You’ll die slowly.”
“Oooh, promises! My favorite foreplay.”
The wall next to me flickers to life with his grinning cartoon avatar. Same wide eyes, same perfect teeth. “Chin up, champ! You’re not supposed to get the girl yet. That's act two material! We need the tension!”
I drive my claws through the wall. The projection bursts into static, the sound of tearing metal mixing with my snarl. When I pull back, my hand is slick with molten circuitry. The mazeshiftsin response, walls grinding, rearranging, cutting me off from the direction I was heading.
He’s moving me. Herding me.
Keeping me away from her.
“Fine,” I growl under my breath. “Let’s see what else you feed me.”
The corridor tightens into a throat of steel and shadow. I move low, silent. My senses adjust to the dark—infrared vision painting the world in heat and pulse. The air here is different. Stale. Stinking of rot and failure.
Civilians.
I smell them before I see them—unwashed bodies, stress hormones, blood. Not fresh blood, though. Days old. The stench of fear clings to every molecule like oil.
I find them in a chamber three levels down. The room’s ceiling is cracked open like a wound, cables hanging in tangled webs. Four survivors crouch around a dead light panel, eyes wide and hollow. One’s muttering to himself. Another’s gnawing on her sleeve like it’s food.
Pitiful.
