Once I’m past her, I whip my flashlight to the corner of the ceiling. There, on a narrow track, I glimpse a tell-tale pinprick of yellow light beaming down.
The shimmering halos. The static. The truncated speech. It wasn’t the byproduct of infection spreading within me, it was holograms. Just like a part of me suspected from the beginning.
I almost laugh aloud. I guess I passed their test by deciding not to off myself.
Mrs. Bledsoe-the projection masquerading as her-turns and smiles again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re too late … son. You’ll never find your way back now.”
Mrs. Bledsoe flickers and disappears, just like Cole did.
My eyes dart to my chronometer.
00:01:48
Less than two minutes to go.
The holograms were all a trick to derail me from the exit, and I was stupid enough to fall for it.
But they were triggered when I found that one corridor-which probably means it leads to the exit. How can I trace my way back again, with such little time left?
My flashlight illuminates the bloody handprints I left on the walls.
I dash back the way I came, whipping my light back and forth until I find the next crimson marker, and the next, speeding my way back down twisting hallways and sharp corners, allowing my own blood to guide me toward salvation.
I risk a glance at my watch.
00:00:59
A couple of times I have to double back when I miss a print or it’s too faded to see clearly. My heart’s beating so fast it feels like it’s going to rupture. And the intermittently shifting walls aren’t helping matters.
I lurch around the next bend. This is it! I recognize this corridor. It’s the same one where the image of Mrs. Bledsoe first appeared. It has to be the way out.
The walls start to shift again …
Springing across the remaining few feet, I smash against the floor and slide the rest of the way, through a gap in the wall, just as a buzzer goes off and the wall slides shut behind me.
I grab my wrist.
00:00:00
Looks like I made it.
I collapse against one of the dark glass walls of a small, octagonal-shaped enclosure. I’m gasping for breath. It almost feels like there isn’t any air in the room. My legs splay out in front of me on the hard surface. The glass around me remains opaque. I tense for the inevitable announcement from Slade, but none comes. My pulse twitches in my wrists.
I shove my face into my palms. How am I going to keep going now? Even if somehow I made it through this Trial, I won’t make it past the next.
My body curls into itself like coiled twine.
Then I just lie there, eyes closed … and wait, wondering if I’ll live to see Cole and Digory again.
Attention Recruits!
Slade’s voice blasts through the loudspeakers and jolts my eyes open.
How long was I out?
We are pleased to announce that all five of you have made it through the labyrinth. The time has come to reveal your rankings.
twenty-nine
The screens that have been obscuring the glass of my prison rise with a whir. I squint against a blast of light and raise my hand against it. Despite the cramps in my stomach, I steady myself against the wall and slide upward until I’m standing. When my eyes adjust I see Digory and the others surrounding me, in identical chambers.
A rush of relief surges through me.
I press my face against the glass on the side facing Digory, rubbing the pane to get his attention. But he’s staring straight ahead, not noticing me. His face is sullen, the blue in his eyes so drained they look almost gray. His upper teeth grind his lower lip. Every few seconds a ripple goes through the hard lines of his jaw.
All around me, his expression is mirrored on the faces of the others. Cypress, who’s in the chamber on the other side of me, chews her hair, pacing back and forth, mumbling words only she can hear. Gideon cowers in the chamber to her right; his glasses magnify his glazed eyes, which resemble hollow eggshells. To his right, and directly across from me, Ophelia’s face is pressed against the glass just like mine, her eyes brimming with fear instead of confidence, as if she’s a reflection of what I’m feeling inside.
They all look like old shoes worn well past their prime, having spent years tramping through rough terrain, now whittled down to thin soles. And that’s how I must look to them. I think about the holograms of Mrs. Bledsoe and Cole, and can’t help wonder what nightmares the other Recruits faced in the labyrinth.
Digory’s eyes finally meet mine. Are you okay? he mouths.
I nod despite everything, drawing strength from his gaze. Are you? I mouth back.
I am now, he says silently.
His lips curve into a sad smile and he presses his hand against the glass, just on the opposite side of mine. I imagine the barrier that separates us isn’t there, and I can almost feel the warmth of his skin. For a moment, I’m not alone anymore, and things are a little better.
The whine of motors and grinding gears shatters that illusion into a million pieces.
It feels like someone has poured ice down my back. Not able to stop myself, I turn in the direction of that relentless noise.
Rising from the platform in between all of our chambers is a dark rectangular enclosure-just like the one that housed Gideon’s parents.
My rib cage squeezes tight against my organs, crushing them.
Is Cole in there now? Soon to be joined by Digory?
You all did exceptionally well in a Trial designed to test your strength of character and resolve, but in the end, one of you did not prove yourself as capable as the others.
Our glances ricochet around the ring, alternating between curiosity, nervousness, and outright fear, as if we’re caged animals. We are. And one of us is about to pay a terrible price for his or her failure.
SLAM!
The box-like chamber completes its ascension and locks into place with a piercing screech of metal, which may as well be the thoughts screaming inside my head.
The lights of our paddocks dim, the contrast drawing more attention to the brightly lit rectangle, which looms like a dark crypt. I chew on my tongue, tasting blood. My fingers are a blur as they thrum the glass in front of me with the speed of a woodpecker’s bill.
What’s taking so long? Why are they prolonging this agony?
Digory and I lock eyes. His jaw clenches. He can’t pretend for my benefit any longer. He knows if he’s failed he’ll be forced to choose my death, destroying Cole in the process-just like my failure will mean the same for him and his husband.
Gideon’s just standing there, eyes vacant. In his state, he must be the loser. I hate myself for the moment of relief that I feel.
The speakers crackle with static.
Your rankings, from best to worst, are as follows:
My throat goes dry.
In first place … Recruit Goslin.
Cypress practically collapses against the glass of her pen. Her body heaves, partly with laughter, partly with a sob.
In second place … Recruit Warrick.
Gideon? But he’s barely responsive. How …?
He remains motionless, without so much as a blink. Maybe his tragedy has actually made him a stronger competitor. Someone who isn’t burdened with fear or guilt.
In third place … Recruit Spark.
My moment of delirious relief dies a quick death. Digory’s still at risk.
He’s facing away from me.
My eyes flit between him and Ophelia … the sound of my breaths piston through my ears …
The Recruit who ranked in fourth place is …