He gifts me that moment. A doorway. The promise of motion.
I don’t hesitate. I move.
CHAPTER 20
GYON
Iwake up choking on smoke and metal dust.
Every nerve in my body screams. My left arm’s half-dead; I can’t feel the fingers. My ribs grind when I breathe. The air smells like scorched copper, ozone, and blood—mine. My tongue tastes like iron filings.
I blink, hard, forcing my vision to focus. Above me, lights strobe in a frantic heartbeat. Below me, movement.
I’m on a catwalk suspended high above the main arena, the metal slick beneath me. Through the grating I see her.
Liora.
She’s small from up here, standing at the center of a cube-shaped chamber, all glass and firelight. Her hair’s wild, her face smeared with soot. Every breath she takes burns through me like a pulse. She’s not supposed to be here.
And she’s not alone.
Dirk Husker stands opposite her, hands out like a stage magician. The Maze itself breathes around them—walls flexing, light bending, the hum of power shifting pitch with every step he takes. The bastard made himself a god in here.
I grab the railing and pull myself up, ignoring the pop of something tearing in my shoulder. My body howls. My mindcuts through it. She’s down there, and she’s not going to die alone.
Not like this.
Not while I still breathe.
The catwalk trembles. Panels shift, groaning. I move anyway, one step at a time. Sparks fall from the ceiling and burn across my skin. My vision tunnels in and out, but I keep my eyes on her. On the pale gold of her hair under the red light. On her mouth as she mouths something I can’t hear.
Then Husker grabs her arm.
I don’t think. I jump.
Air slams into me. Gravity tears through my gut. The catwalk gives way behind me with a shriek. For one heartbeat, there’s silence. Then the floor rushes up.
I hit the arena hard enough to feel the world lurch. Metal buckles. Pain detonates behind my eyes. I roll, rise on one knee. Liora’s scream pierces the static haze in my head.
“Gyon!”
That one word is enough to get me on my feet.
Husker turns. His grin is obscene. He looks smaller up close—more meat than myth—but his eyes are bright with mania. The Maze hums through him. Power bleeds from the implants in his neck. He’s plugged directly into the system.
“Well,” he says, voice rich and fake as holofilm. “You made it! My favorite monster finally joins the party.”
“Let her go.” My voice is gravel and blood.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” He laughs. “Oh, Iwantyou to try. That’s the point, see? You’re both the heroes and the final act.”
He moves faster than he should. The Maze feeds him speed, balance, arrogance. A drone—one of his guards—drops from the ceiling, plasma blades spinning. I dive sideways, catch its arm mid-swing, wrench it until gears scream, then ram it into Husker’s chest.
He stumbles. Grins wider. “Good!”
Another drone drops. Then another.
The floor erupts in sparks and shrapnel.
