Page 91 of Quarter Labyrinth

“Better.”

The silence settled around us, broken only by the faint whistle of wind threading through the labyrinth. Clark’s eyelids fluttered. Twice he stopped himself, jolting his body awake.

“Get some rest,” I told him. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Wake me if anything happens,” he murmured. His eyelids shut.

The labyrinth kept quiet for hours while I thought of the center, how close we were, and what would happen when we won. Would the maze tremble before disappearing? Would we have to find our way out? And how would I get to the Silver Wings to tell them I’d won?

Once I won, how long until I found my father?

I’d tried not to think of my father often while in the labyrinth. He’d consumed so much of my thoughts my entire life that it felt like closing the door on half of me. I’d open the door soon. Winning this labyrinth meant nothing if I couldn’t find him, because my life as captain of the Silver Wings was always meant to happen at his side. Without him there, it wouldn’t be as beautiful.

But two years without correspondence from him…

When this was over, I’d be forced to deal with the possibility that my father was dead.

The thoughts kept me awake, swirling like leaves caught in a restless wind. I closed my eyes, trying to calm my racing mind, when the faint sound of scrambling feet echoed through the maze.

My eyes snapped open. I fumbled for my weapons, my fingers brushing over the cool hilt of my axe, and crawled to the ivy-covered archway. Peering through the tangled vines, I squinted into the darkness, but the path ahead seemed empty, the shadows lying heavy and still.

The sound grew louder, hurried and desperate—a frantic rhythm of boots slapping against stone. My pulse quickened. Then came a ragged shout that cut through the quiet like a blade.

Clark’s head snapped up. His gaze darted to mine, and I pressed a finger to my lips. “Someone’s fighting,” I whispered.

He scooted to my side and stared into the maze alongside me. The sound grew nearer, until a figure burst into view, sprinting down the path toward us. His silhouette was backlit by the faint glow of a distant torch, casting him in flickering shadows.

The runner moved like his life depended on it—because it did. Behind him, three others were in relentless pursuit.

“He's injured,” I whispered, noticing the uneven rhythm of his steps. His limp slowed him, and his breaths came in haggard, shallow gasps that echoed through the corridor. He clutched a dagger in one hand, its edge glinting weakly in the dim light.

“He’s not going to make it,” Clark muttered beside me.

The lead pursuer surged forward with a burst of speed, closing the gap in an instant. The impact was brutal. The attacker tackled the runner from behind, their bodies colliding with a sickening thud that reverberated through the walls.

I froze. my heart hammered in my chest as loudly as it beat from my tattoo. My necklace warmed against my skin. Delilah was protecting us from their sight.

When the boy lifted his head, his wide, frantic eyes scanned the darkness. He didn’t see us, hidden in the shadows of the ivy, but I saw him.

“That’s Leif.”

FORTY-TWO

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Clark stiffened beside me. His lips thinned into a hard, unforgiving line. “Good,” he said coldly. “We need Leif gone.”

I didn’t answer. My throat tightened, my chest constricting as I watched Leif struggle beneath the weight of his attacker. His movements were sluggish, his strength fading with every second. The others reached him now, their shadows blending into a chaotic mass as they descended on him.

Leif fought back, but it was weak, his strikes wild and desperate. His dagger—mydagger—was inhis hand, its blade trembling in his grip. He slashed at one of his attackers, catching their arm, but it wasn’t enough to stop them. They retaliated with a brutal kick to his ribs, and Leif cried out in pain.

“He’s going to die,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Clark’s jaw tightened. “Then let him. The less competition we have, the better.”

But I couldn’t look away. My heart pounded as I watched Leif’s head drop back to the ground, his breaths shallow, his hands barely lifting the dagger in defense. He was losing.

Every instinct in me screamed to stay hidden, to let the labyrinth take him. But Leif looked up and I saw his eyes, and suddenly none of my emotions made sense.

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