“That’s not the point.”
My throat tightens. I kiss him too, slower this time, my hand curling into his shirt like I need something solid to hold onto. He exhales softly against my lips, his thumb brushing my arm.
I move to Oberon next.
The heat of him is still there under the rain, coiled and sharp. The wound on his shoulder looks worse up close.
“Oberon…”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I don’t like it.”
He huffs something low. I kiss him too, firmly, my hand braced against his chest. He stills, then his hand closes around my wrist, not stopping me, just… holding.
Finally, I come to Ashton. He straightens when I reach him, like he’s trying to pretend nothing touched him. But I see the shift in his stance.
“You’re not fine either.”
“I am,” he says. “We all are.”
“Promise?” I kiss him softly, something steadier in it.
When I pull back, I look at all of them again. Rain runs down their faces. Blood washes away in thin lines. The storm rages around us.
But they’re here.
All of them.
Oberon rolls his shoulder, wincing slightly. “We’re not done yet.”
Ashton nods. “We can’t stop. Not here.”
Of course not.
We never get to stop.
I let out a slow breath.Every step has been worse than the last. Every path leads to something trying to kill us. And somehow… I wouldn’t go back. Not to the cabin. Not to the quiet life I had before. Not after this. Not afterthem.
The realization sinks in deep and certain. Whatever happens when this is over, whether they still want me, whether I belong in their world at all… I’m not the same person who walked into this labyrinth.
I look at them again. Really look. Even like this. Bloodied. Soaked. Exhausted. I would choose this. I would choosethem.
“Let’s keep moving,” Oberon says.
He’s right, we should, even if the only thing I want to do right now is hold them close to me and pretend it could last forever.
20
Oberon
The rain finally stops. One moment it’s hammering down on us, cold and relentless, and the next there’s nothing but silence and the thick, clinging heat it leaves behind. The air sits heavy in my lungs, damp and warm, every breath dragging through exhaustion. My shoulder throbs with every step, the wound from the spider pulling tight and hot beneath soaked fabric. I ignore it. I’ve had worse.
We all have.
Mud sucks at our boots as we push forward, every step harder than it should be. We’re drenched, filthy, blood still drying in streaks across skin and clothes, but we don’t stop. Stopping is how you die in this place.
I glance back.
