The Crowns Gambit

❦ Chapter Eight: Atlas ❦

Alexander stretches his legs in a lazy arc, clearly showing off. "Told you I could survive without whining."

I roll my eyes, adjusting my pack as we keep moving through the maze's endless twists and turns. "Yeah, after we found the balm. You were hobbling like an old man before that."

Oliver grins, kicking a pebble down the narrow path. "It's nice not having to carry him anymore. I was starting to feel like a nursemaid."

Alexander clutches his heart dramatically. "You wound me, Oliver. I thought we had something special."

"I don't do clingy," Oliver says dryly, tossing a smug look over his shoulder.

We press on, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the eerie quiet. The maze is designed to make you feel lost—not just physically but mentally. Each dead end frays my nerves, and every twist that takes us further from finding her feels like a punch to the gut.

When you're stuck in a death trap, jokes are either a lifeline or a reminder of how quickly everything could fall apart. And right now, all I can think about is Charlotte.

We reach another fork in the path—three ways ahead, each lined with thorny vines coiling like snakes. Alexander stops and taps his chin dramatically. "Which way, fearless leader?"

"Left," I say without hesitation.

"Bold choice," Alexander comments, lifting an eyebrow. "Or just guessing?"

"Little of both," I admit.

Oliver groans. "Fantastic. If we end up face-to-face with a minotaur or something, I'm blaming you."

We press on, turning left into a path that narrows with every step. The walls close in like they're trying to swallow us, and just as I start to think this might've been a mistake—

Snap.

The sharp crack echoes from somewhere ahead, followed by the distinct creak of wood shifting—like a trap resetting itself.

We freeze.

"What was that?" Alexander whispers, his playful tone gone.

"Not good," Oliver mutters.

We wait, holding our breath, but nothing else happens. No boulder rolls toward us. No pit opens beneath our feet. Just silence, thick and suffocating.

Alexander steps forward cautiously, testing the ground. "Maybe it was nothing."

"Yeah, and maybe we'll all get medals after this," I say, scanning the maze walls for anything out of place.

Then we hear it—a low, distant grinding noise, like stone scraping against stone.

Damon and Sebastian had chosen a different path, one that led deeper into the maze, hoping to scout ahead. I can only hope they're safe.

We bolt down the path, our boots slamming against the uneven ground. The walls groan, shifting and grinding as if the entire maze is alive.

"Left or right?" Alexander shouts, sprinting beside me.

"Right!" I shout back.

We veer right, only to find ourselves face-to-face with a row of jagged spikes rising from the ground like fangs.

"Wrong way!" Oliver yells, skidding to a halt.

Before we can double back, the grinding noise gets louder—and something behind us clicks, like a lock sliding into place.

"We're trapped," Oliver mutters, his voice tight.

"Not yet," I say, searching frantically for a way out. There has to be a way out.