Once.
Twice.
“Now.”
We move.
Bron follows directly behind me as we cross the unstable bridge just before it retracts entirely.
Behind us another couple tries the same move too late and drops through the gap.
The course grows more dangerous the farther we advance.
Wind turbines spin along the narrow corridors, blasting bursts of air strong enough to throw contestants off balance. Sections of flooring tilt unpredictably beneath our boots.
But Bron stays with me.
No reckless leaps.
No improvisational heroics.
When I tell him to stop, he stops.
When I say move, he moves.
At one point a collapsing walkway forces us onto a narrow maintenance beam barely wider than my foot.
Bron glances down.
“That’s… a long way down.”
“Don’t look down.”
“I already did.”
“Then stop doing it.”
He exhales slowly.
“Bossy.”
“Alive.”
“Fair.”
Halfway through the maze the number of remaining couples has dropped sharply.
Several competitors panic when the platform rotations accelerate, sprinting ahead in desperate attempts to beat the collapses. Most of them fail spectacularly.
The sound of falling bodies and safety fields activating echoes across the structure.
Bron watches one particularly dramatic elimination and whistles.
“This course is brutal.”
“Yes.”
“Remind me never to anger whoever designs these.”
