I exhale, shaking, breath fogging in front of me.
CHAPTER 3
LILA
The maze feels alive now.
Every sound echoes differently—every breath, every shift of fog.
The corn whispers against itself like it’s carrying secrets from one side to the other. I move quieter this time, lighter on my feet. If they’re hunting me, then fine. Let’s see how they like being followed.
I trace my fingertips along the wall of corn as I walk, marking my path with the bend of stalks. It’s the only way to tell where I’ve been; every turn looks the same otherwise.
Left.
Right.
Straight.
Somewhere, a low creak hums through the maze. Metal on metal. A gate? A door? Maybe part of the setup, or maybe…
I keep moving. The fog curls around me, thicker than before, wetting my hair and eyelashes. The air feels heavier here, warmer somehow, like the maze itself is breathing down my neck.
Another sound.
A soft drag of boots on gravel has my entire body freeing.
The crunch comes again, slow and deliberate from behind me this time. My stomach flips, and my pulse jumps into my throat.
They’re close.
I pivot quickly and duck into a narrow side path, half-hidden between two broken scarecrow posts. The space is tight; dry stalks claw at the wings on my back as I squeeze through. I crouch low, pressing myself into the shadows, trying to make my breathing small.
Silence.
Only my heartbeat.
Then, through the gaps in the corn, I see a figure glide past on the main path.
Black mask.
Smooth. Glossy. The faint reflection of the dim lights above us shines across its surface. He moves like he’s not even touching the ground. Searching for me. His head turns slightly as he passes my hiding spot, and for a split second, I’m sure he sees me.
But he keeps walking.
I don’t exhale until he’s gone.
My hands tremble as I push the hair from my face. My pulse is everywhere: neck, wrists, under my tongue. I need to move before they circle back. Before?—
A hand grabs my ankle.
I yelp, kicking back instinctively. A strong grip closes around my calf, the rough glove scraping at my bare skin, and I scramble back, dragging through the dirt until I hit the opposite wall of corn. I look down, and a figure rises slowly from the fog in front of me.
White mask.
The grin split down the middle like a crack through bone. The eyes—empty black holes—fixed on me.
He doesn’t speak, but the air between us vibrates. He tilts his head one way, then the other, studying me like a specimen. Then, from behind the mask, comes a soft sound.
