of black and grey—but several looked over their shoulder, still taking him in.
The labyrinth went on for miles, the suspense maddening. Even worse was the suffering; the day had already taken its toll, but still Tobias kept his back straight and his shoulders low, pretending he was fine—that his body wasn’t screaming for reprieve. Some of the men wore their misery for all to see, while others seemed cool and unaffected. God only knew if they were repressing the same weakness as him.
The stretch of sameness finally changed, the ceiling overhead replaced with a black rope net holding back hundreds of boulders. One by one, heads turned to gaze up at the sight, their faces awash with dread.
“Are we to be buried?” the Adonis asked.
“Smashed to bits, I imagine,” the Regal said. “Like that one shit—the Benevolent.”
Tobias’s stare shot toward him, narrowing into a glare. The Regal caught his gaze, wavering for a moment before forcing a smile.
“Apologies.” He nudged the Adonis and laughed. “The Artist just gave me the dagger eyes.”
Tobias cursed under his breath and joined the fast-forming mob circling the instructions.
WATCH YOUR STEP
The floor ahead transitioned from its smooth, stone surface to a series of raised tiles in grey squares. A line of dissonant tiles ran through the center of the tunnel, jet black and shaped like footprints, leading far into the distance.
“So where the hell do we step?” the Noble asked.
The Regal gestured toward the black tiles. “On the footprints, no doubt.”
“I suppose we’ll have to travel in a single-file line,” the Adonis said.
“Well then, someone should start us off.” Folding his arms, the Noble eyed the Adonis up and down. “Someone needs to lead the pack.”
The Adonis nodded in agreement before catching the Noble’s gaze. “Wait, why are you looking at me?”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
“Oh, piss off, I don’t hear you volunteering.”
“I’ll do it.”
A man shoved his way to the front—tall and brawny with a full red beard, and the Noble smirked as he passed. “The Brave’s holding true to his laurel, I see.”
The Brave grumbled but otherwise ignored him, standing at the edge of the obstacle and glancing between the boulders and the tiles. With the utmost caution, he stepped onto the first footprint tile while the men around him held their breath.
Silence.
Concurrent sighs of relief filled the space. Nothing had happened, certainly no falling rocks. The Brave took another step forward, keeping his feet planted on the footprint tiles, and continued down the tunnel.
One by one, the other men followed in the Brave’s footsteps. The Hunter was the second to test his luck, followed by the Adonis, eager to redeem himself. Every so often the boulders rattled, and the men froze along the tiles, but otherwise the rocks above kept still, and the competitors beneath them traveled with steady exactness.
Only a handful of men remained, and it was Tobias’s turn to venture through the course. As he approached the starting point, Kaleo swerved in front of him.
“Apologies, but you wouldn’t mind if I cut in, yes?”
Milo’s death flashed through Tobias’s mind—his shattered bones, his innards smeared across the wall—and he met Kaleo’s grin with a glare. “Perhaps I would.”
“It seems you don’t have a choice.” Kaleo skipped onto the first footprint tile. “I suppose you’ll just have to stare at my ass for a while now, won’t you?”
Tobias clenched his jaw, stifling the venomous words flooding his mouth. The tiles went on endlessly into the distance, and he certainly wouldn’t be spending the entire trek behind Kaleo. With a growl, he spun on his heel, ready to abandon his spot in line, only to run into a meaty chest covered in black ink.
The Dragon.
Drake stared back at him, his blue eyes sharp enough to kill. Tobias waited for him to do something—to move, or speak, or perhaps kill him right then and there—but he simply cocked his chin at the tiles ahead, and so Tobias reluctantly headed onto the course.
One step. Two. Tobias watched his feet, trying to focus exclusively on the tiles below, but he couldn’t help but study Kaleo out of the corner of his eye. He hated the man; it was seeping from him, filling the space like a black cloud.
“So, Artist,” Kaleo said, ending the quiet. “What sort of art is it that you do? Or create? Whatever it is.”
Tobias didn’t answer, gritting his teeth.
Kaleo chuckled. “Are you ignoring me?”
“Trying to.”
“I imagine you’d still like to kill me.”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“How unfortunate for you then.” Kaleo