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I gasp. I can’t help it. I thought I had his location pinpointed. He shouldn’t be so close, so fast.

“Found you.” A grunt of effort, a whistle of movement.

Left. Now.

I instinctively follow the instruction, throwing myself to the left. I have to keep my arms wide to avoid slicing myself on my weapons, but as I land, I hear the Chariot’s fists hitting the ground behind me. Likely where I was just standing.

Left again.

There’s no time to think, only to act. I throw myself left again, rolling and scrambling into a crouch. Another impact. He’s following the sound of my movement the same way I’m hearing his.

“Stop running!”

His foot catches me in the hip, flipping me onto my back. I roll and roll again, not sure where I’m going, only that I need to put as much distance between us as possible. He’s too fast, though. Even panting with effort, he keeps up with me, stomping his foot bare inches from my face.

On pure instinct, I slash out with my right hand. The sickle makes contact with his leg—I think?—and he howls and staggers back. “You little bitch!”

I cut him. He’s not moving enough to be invulnerable, which means I have a chance. I shove myself back and then back again, half crawling. I would be so much faster if I let go of my sickles … but that would leave me entirely defenseless.

Still.

The Moon’s voice isn’t a whisper. It sounds like They’re right behind me, speaking directly into the shell of my ear. I obey their command; every bit of my focus is on the Chariot as he stumbles a little before righting himself.

“Just for that, I’m going to take my time killing you.”

Up.

I rise to a crouch, exhaling slowly. My palms are still sweating, my thighs shaking, but my mind is finally still. I can do this. I have to do this. It’s him or me, and dying now means all the sacrifice and pain and death were for nothing. I won’t let that be true.

Hold.

I hold my breath and strain my ears in an effort to detect his exact location. My energy isn’t going to last forever. I have to end this quickly.

The Chariot staggers toward me and slightly to the right, though it’s difficult to know for sure with the way sound travels here. “Little fucking bitch.”

He’s right in front of you.

I surge forward and swing my sickles in a vicious arch, aiming for where his stomach should be. They make meaty contact and snag, but my momentum works in my favor, tearing through him. Blood hits my face as something heavy and wet lands on the ground.

“Biiiii…” His voice fades as the heavier impact of his body follows. The scent of death permeates this place, blood and shit and sorrow.

I turn just in time to gag and expel what little I ate after waking today. I’m so deeply grateful that I can’t see a single damn thing. I don’t want to witness the violence I just enacted, no matter how necessary. All my training, my entire life devoted to entering and surviving the Trials, and it turns out I have no stomach for murder.

I turn and walk away. Being unable to see means my sense of smell feels stronger by comparison to my lack of sight, and I very much do not want to spend any more time with the gods-awful scent of death and vomit.

It takes many steps before I’m able to convince myself I can’t smell the Chariot any longer. My legs are shaking and my head spins. It could be minutes, hours, days from when I entered the shadows. I have no way of knowing.

“Moon?” My voice sounds very small. “Are you there?”

I’m here, Daughter.

My shoulders drop, just a little. I’m not alone in this place of in between; not entirely. “How do I leave?”

The same way you came.

Something awful and hot in my chest threatens to erupt. “Can you stop with the cryptic bullshit for one fucking minute and tell me how to get out of here?”

They’re silent for long enough I begin to fear They’ve abandoned me. Just when I’m about to beg Them to return, Their voice slides through my mind, cool and soothing. Visualize your destination. Then step forward.