Sarah joined Michael at the end of the corridor. They moved fast through the narrow, white passageways, jumped on the elevator, and pressed the ground-floor button.

“I'm sorry for putting you in this situation,” Michael apologized. “They will soon forget what I did but will continue to remember you.”

“We are a team,” replied Sarah with a half smile.

“Thanks.”

“But I’m still mad at you for telling him about the gullet,” she said angrily. “What if the 5th comes after him?”

“We don’t even know if the gullet goes to the 3rd or 5th floors.”

“Like they care,” Sarah complained.

“If they find out, they’ll come after him regardless of whether he knows about it or not,” explained Michael. “Besides, if the E.A.D.’s search goes nowhere, I bet they’ll sell them the information anyway. It’s too valuable to hold on to.”

Ping!

The elevator arrived at its destination, and Sarah and Michael exited into the lobby. Dozing around were half a dozen security guards, wearing bulletproof vests and carrying automatic rifles. All of them were civilians, with no Authors in sight.

“We are not going back to the Labyrinth?” Sarah questioned.

“Let’s rest and eat something first. We rushed all the way here from the 19th floor. I’m craving a nice footlong sandwich.”

“Tuna and egg again?” She complained, but he ignored her.

“I heard what you told him about healing his daughter,” Sarah whispered. “You know that’s nearly impossible! Not even Odd’s specialized in healing skills can cure brain damage.”

“It’s possible. Unlikely, but possible,” Michael replied, ignoring her reproving gaze.

“And if your goal was to motivate him, you realize he’ll forget about it soon, right?”

Michael sighed. “It’s about how badly he wants it,” he replied. “If he repeats my words to himself enough times, they’ll stick with him, even after he forgets about me.”

“Give him a break,” Sarah protested. “He survived whatever horrors lurk in the depths of the 4th and then spent weeks imprisoned in a cell, being Lisa’s punching bag. He needs time to recover.”

Michael refused to reply.

“What were you thinking, telling him to face the 2nd?” Sarah insisted.

She knew Christopher was tight on time, but she was afraid that if he pushed too hard, he would lose his mind before making it through the Prelude.

“He doesn’t have time.”

After flashing their badges to the guards, they walked across the revolving doors and down the sidewalk until they arrived near a black SUV. The windshield was covered in debris and dust, having been parked there for a long time.

Sarah unlocked the car and sat in the driver's seat while Michael sat in the passenger’s seat. His phone started ringing again as he did, but he rapidly turned off the call.

“You should pick that up soon,” advised Sarah.

“I will. Just let me enjoy my last moments of peace,” answered Michael with a smile. He could already imagine a headache approaching. Not even he would escape unscathed after breaking Christopher out of Aeymenchuk.

“Why do you even care?” Sarah asked. But she already knew the answer, even if Michael didn’t admit it.

And he didn’t.

“I just feel responsible for what happened to him; after all, we were the ones who threw his body into the Labyrinth.” He lied.

“The alternative was to burn it,” joked Sarah, and Michael used the opportunity to change the subject.

“And he’s not that helpless. Despite a Lazarus’ bad luck, he did manage to make it out of the Labyrinth. And with a unique page nonetheless.”

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. Maybe Christopher hadn’t told them everything.

“What was it with the gloves?” she asked. “I really liked that pair.”

“There was something off about his hands. I suspect he has some passive skill he can’t fully control and it might be hurting him.”

“Do you think it comes from his synopsis?”

“Maybe,” Michael frowned. “Or perhaps it is related to his unique page–it is soul-bound, after all. Were you able to read it?”

“Only the title,” admitted Sarah. She had scanned through it while Christopher was busy with the bureaucracy. “And even that was difficult. Ancient Labyrinthian is too confusing; I’m not sure I got it right.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“What was the title?” Asked Michael.

“Corrupted Son of Hor,” she announced in an ominous tone.

“Never heard of it, but it sounds ominous,” admitted Michael. “It's always dangerous to bind corrupted pages. I hope he can keep his reasoning intact.”

Sarah bit her lip.

“Do you think we could try to learn a bit more about the page?”

Michael laughed. “Unless you happen to know a whisperer…” His smile slowly faded as he realized who Sarah was talking about. He shook his head, helpless.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, “but we’ll never make it in time for his Prelude.”

Their car approached the gates when Michael’s phone rang for the third time. He sighed and forced himself to take the call.

– ᚲᚢᚱᛋᛖᛞ –

Back in his room, a warm afternoon breeze escaped through the window, gently caressing Christopher’s face.

He sat on the ground with an empty stare, holding his aching wrist. Purplish bruises appeared, marking the spots where Michael’s iron grip had crushed into his skin.

Occasionally, he would shiver, overwhelmed by the reality of having to return to the Labyrinth, mixed with the memories of the terrors he found on the swamp. And yet, there was a wild grin on his face and determination in his eyes.

There was a chance. A chance to atone for his wrongdoings. He had an opportunity to save Christine, and he would take it.

Christopher stood up and watched his hands.

He had been careless. He didn’t know how much Integrity he had left, but it should not be much. He didn’t even know what Breathless Touch did when used on another person. What if he had heavily injured Michael, or worse, killed him?

He reprimanded himself, swore to be more careful in the future, and put the bright yellow gloves on. They were tight, but fortunately, the leather stretched enough to fit his hands. Yellow was definitely not his color, but he couldn’t afford to be picky for now.

Christopher stood up and looked at his reflection in the wall-mounted mirror. He saw a disheveled figure with dark, determined eyes, matted shoulder-length hair, and a scruffy brown beard–a young man who resembled a filthy beggar.

The filth and grime on his skin helped to cover the thick scar that cut through his face. It went from his left temple to the right side of his mouth, slicing right through the middle of his nose.

I’m disgusting.

Christopher rummaged through the closet and found three sets of neatly folded dark green camo clothes. Adjacent to the room was a small, private bathroom. After finding a towel, Christopher stepped into the cramped shower and turned on the hot water.

Relief was almost instant. As the hot water battered his exhausted, scarred body, washing away the filth, it seemed to wash some of his burdens along with it.

Twenty minutes later, when the shower ran out of hot water, he wrapped a towel around his waist before digging through a small cabinet above the sink.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for–a blue plastic bag with half a dozen shaving blades inside. He took out one of the blades and carefully started shaving.

Not long after, as he was almost finished, his enhanced hearing picked on the sound of running steps and heavy panting on the corridor outside. A moment later, someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said Christopher, quickly washing his face and peeking out of the bathroom.

The door opened, and Lisa stepped into the room.

She greeted Christopher with a smile and light crimson cheeks, but it quickly faded as she noticed the monstrous scars on his naked torso. Her gaze lingered so long it made Christopher uncomfortable.

“Hello?” he greeted, causing her to jump back, embarrassed.

“Hello, Chris,” she said awkwardly before mocking. “Nice gloves.”

Christopher replied with a nod. He had put those on as soon as he finished showering.

“Look, about what happened, I–.” Lisa started, but Christopher interrupted her.

“I don’t care about it,” he confessed, surprising Lisa. “You saved me. If you want information in return, I’ll gladly give it to you. It’s a fair trade, no matter what Sarah says.”

He paused.

“But next time, don't use your abilities on me,” he whispered sharply. After speaking with Sarah, he quickly realized that Lisa had been using some strange skill to try and extract more information from him.

Lisa’s eyes darted to the floor, heavy with guilt, and Christopher knew now was his opportunity.

“I have a favor to ask you,” he said. “I need you to take me to the Labyrinth.”

Lisa’s eyes opened wide. “Why would you–”

“I’m already a drafted, which means I can challenge the 2nd floor,” Christopher interrupted.

“No! I don’t know what Sarah told you, but we have great training facilities at the E.A.C. We will get you ready for the Prelude and–”

“Seven days,” Christopher said, his voice trembling, instantly silencing Lisa. “I might’ve had more time if you hadn’t kept me a prisoner for two weeks. But with only seven days, how much do you really think I can learn?”

He saw it again in her eyes. Guilt.

“Chris, I–” she hesitated.

“In two days. I’ll take you there in two days.”

“Why in two days?” He asked.

“Someone else is leaving the E.A.C. in two days to challenge the 2nd floor,” she explained. “I’ll put you together; it's safer.”

“Are they a Lazarus too?” He asked with surprise.

“No, they are not,” she replied. “They are not even a drafted. Not yet, at least.”

“How can they enter the Labyrinth if they aren’t a drafted?” Asked Christopher.

“You’ll understand once you meet them. Besides, don’t you want to see your daughter?”

Christopher glared. Of course, he wanted to see Christine, but the visit was scheduled only two days before his Prelude. If he waited for the scheduled time, he wouldn’t have enough time to prepare.

“I’ll move your visit to tomorrow,” Lisa announced. “It won’t be easy, but I can call in some favors.”

“Thank you,” Christopher said. Their gazes met, and Lisa returned a gentle smile.

“I have to go now. We’ll pick you up tomorrow at six a.m. Be ready.”