Page 53 of January Bell

A quick glance down tells me it’s closer than before, and whether the rock is sinking or the magma is rising it doesn’t matter, because both options are equally terrible.

I glance over to where Zan is standing on his black column of rock, clearly undecided between his three scenarios of mine, and I wonder briefly what it is he’s seeing. Before fear takes the wheel, and I wonder if he knows me well enough to decide which of my memories are the truth and which is the lie.

Finally, Zan points at the middle option of his and says something, his mouth moving, but he’s too far away to make out. Whatever bubble of silence I was trapped in, he clearly is as well.

His rock shakes, and I scream in spite of myself as he registers the new noise of the crowd, clearly finishing his task at hand.

I want to ask him what he saw, what he picked, but there isn’t enough time before both of our columns begin moving forward.

With a harsh lurch that almost sends me flying off the rock, I crouch, hanging on with my fingernails to the black rock, grateful there’s at least enough texture that I can get a good handhold.

Our columns finally hit the next black embankment, and I practically leap to safety the minute it touches.

No sooner have I set foot onto the stable area than Zan scoops me up again, holding me close.

“You picked correctly,” he says.

“You picked correctly,” I say, holding him tight, burying my face in his shoulder.

I don’t know when Zan started to feel like home, but now that he is, I don’t want to let him go.

“I knew you didn’t come here for a mate,” I say playfully.

“I got one anyway,” he says with a grin.

“Come on,” I tell him. “I don’t know where Poppy and her partner are, but we have to hurry if we want to make it out.”

I feel selfish at the thought, because surely Poppy deserves to get out of here just as much as we do, and I hate the idea of leaving her behind.

But at this point, Zan is brutally injured, and I want us out of here, into the safety of Sueva as fast as we can get.

Pop, you’ll have to figure it out. She’s the one who got us into this mess anyway.

Not that she deserves this either. Not that this was exactly what she had planned.

“I’m a bitch,” I tell Zan, feeling horrible about it.

“Oh, if you’re a bitch, then I’m a bitch,” he says.

“You don’t know what that word means, do you?”

“No,” he tells me, shaking his head.

“That’s just perfect,” I tell him. “If I’m a bitch, you’re a bitch. Team motto.”

He nods in agreement. “Come on, bitch,” he says, nodding to the red-light strips glowing in front of us.

A laugh tears out of me, and I know the minute he figures out what bitch means he’s going to be furious he called me that. For some reason, just imagining that version of the future puts some pep in my step.

We jog over to the wall, Zan limping slightly, but I don’t say anything.

As dumb as it is, I’m worried that if I point it out it’ll make whatever pain he’s in worse, so I just note it and move as fast as I can to match his still impressive pace.

A slick jet-black wall rises in front of us, a narrow opening lit with red, clearly lighting the path Ken clearly wants us to take for the next obstacle.

Zan and I share a long look before he takes my hand, giving it a light squeeze. For the first time, the look in his eyes isn’t cocky or smug— it’s uneasy, like he’s recalculating something— but the thought flies out of my head as the ground beneath us begins to fall away.

Zan pulls me forward with a huge tug, and we step into the narrow opening together.