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As I inch along, I watch Ajax’s momentum slow out of the corner of my eye. He stops a good twenty feet from the final platform and curses, swinging his body back and forth in an attempt to move closer to the platform. It won’t work, but I have my own problems to worry about.
I’m achingly aware of the time ticking down as I move forward. This is so much harder than it looks. I’m in the best shape of my life, but it takes concentration to ensure at least two opposing limbs are pressing against the panels while still moving forward. I grit my teeth and keep going.
I have not come this far to fail now. I have too many motherfuckers to prove wrong. My siblings. Paris. Achilles. Every single person in Olympus who thinks my value begins and ends with the family and face I was born with.
Atalanta is outpacing me, which tempts me to rush, but a single mistake means ruin. I concentrate on breathing as I move down the panel. Step, press, step, press. Over and over again. By the time I reach the end, my body is shaking. I eye the distance I’ll have to cross to reach the rope and swing to the next platform. It looks like miles. I could make it easily if my muscles were still fresh, but I’m exhausted.
“I can do this,” I mutter. It doesn’t matter if I can or can’t, because I don’t have time to waffle. Every second clicking by pushes me closer to ruin, to the time running out or my body giving out.
I leap.
The second my feet leave the panels, I know I’ve misjudged. I hit the rope several feet lower than I planned, too close to the bottom. The rope swings, but I slide down a few more precarious inches, my legs flailing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The platform is higher than I expected based on where I planned to grab the rope, and my momentum is less than anticipated. It doesn’t matter. I have to jump. I release myself at the pinnacle of the swing and slam into the platform, only my upper body clearing it. My breath whooshes out of me, but I don’t let myself freeze up. If I do, I fall.
I scramble for purchase against the flat surface, but I lose an inch, sliding back toward the floor. Back toward defeat. No, damn it. I have come too far. I’m not going to let a little thing like gravity beat me now. I force myself to go still, to think. If I can get a leg onto the platform…
A dark boot appears in my field of vision, and I look up in horror to find one of Athena’s people standing over me. They raise their foot, obviously intending to kick me in the face. Oh fuck, this is going to hurt.
They never get a chance.
Atalanta appears behind them. At first I think she’s simply going to shove them off the platform, but she’s more of a showwoman than that. She hauls them around and delivers a devastating punch to their face. They go boneless and fall to the platform. Holy shit, she just knocked them out with a single hit.
She grins at the crowd and gives a cheery wave before focusing on me. She leans over, medium-brown skin shining with sweat, and offers me a hand. I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”
“You really don’t.”
I hate that she might be right. My arms quiver, but I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”
She makes an impatient sound, her tone exasperated. “Stop wasting time and take my hand, or I’ll leave you and you’ll fall.”
When she puts it like that, there really is no other choice. I slap my hand into hers and let her pull me up onto the platform. The crowd goes wild in response, the very arena seeming to shake. Atalanta gives me a quick grin, and then I’m in her arms. She doesn’t give me a chance to react before she bends me back into a showy dip and gives me a quick kiss. She sets me on my feet and then she’s gone, racing up the last obstacle, a thick knotted rope that we’ll have to climb to reach the final platform.
There are three ropes, so I hurry to the one in the middle. My arms and legs protest violently at the thought of more, but I’ve worked through that kind of pain more times than I can count. Being a gymnast hurts, sure, but not more than growing up in my father’s house. Really, I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.
I start up the rope, fighting against gravity and my own weakness as I ascend. I’m halfway up when the opponent Atalanta knocked out stumbles to their feet and looks up. I can’t see their face through the black mask, but I feel our eyes meet. They start for my rope, staggering a little. “No,” I whisper.
