“The alarm wasn’t supposed to go off yet, Judith,” I snap. 

“It’s not my fault Keith can’t count, Taz!” my sister hisses back. 

“If she dies because of that idiot, I swear, I will scoop out his eyes with a spoon,” I mutter, running through the dark halls of this rotten place, her right along with me. The pound of our boots echos against the metal walls. “We’ll get her out, Taz. It’s okay.” But I can tell she is as unconvinced as I am. 

The plan was, originally, that Judith and I would sneak in unnoticed, figure out where Brailey was being kept, and then have Keith set off the alarm, sending most, if not all guards to the labyrinth's entrance. That would have let us get her out a little easier than if there were patrols and their carvees roaming around. But now that’s pretty much all gone out the window, thanks to Keith’s stupid inability to do basic math and wait a few minutes.  

The pounding of many pairs of boots that definitely aren’t ours interrupts me mentally cursing my friend, and Judith yanks me into a small antechamber just as a group of three guards rounds the corner up ahead, carvees racing alongside them. I shudder at the big, eight-legged creatures, with their beady eyes and snake-like bodies, and two extra sets of fangs. What beast needs three sets of lethal teeth?  

They rush past us, not even glancing into the shadows of our little alcove. We wait until the sounds of the guards fade, and I am about to keep running, but Judith keeps me back when a soft clicking sounds.  

Click-click-click-click. Click-click. 

I tense, cursing quietly. A carvee had spotted us. I peer out, but don’t see one of brutes. I creep forward, slowly looking up.  

Beady eyes stare into mine, a forked tongue tasting the air. 

I supress a shiver, freezing in place.  

Frick. 

Frick frick frick. 

“Taz,” Judith whispers fearfully as the carvee crawls down the wall, steady and slow, stalking. 

“I know, I know,” I mutter, never taking my eyes off the beast’s. I carefully reach for the sword at my hip, fingers missing the hilt three times before grabbing it. As soon as the carvee lunges, opening its mouth to call to its friends, displaying its deadly fangs, I surge forward. Instead of backing up, I meet the creature head-on, its momentum driving its own chest into my blade. A feral screech rips from its maw as it staggers, no doubt alerting other carvees and guards, eight hairy legs slipping and sliding on the smooth concrete, my sword being wrenched from my grip. 

I grab Judith’s hand, no time to grab my weapon, and sprint down the corridor, all subtlety forgotten and abandoned. Obscenities chorus in my head at our situation, panic overcoming me. 

What if we can’t get Brailey out? What if I never have her in my arms again? 

What if she’s already gone? 

My body goes colder than the alpine mountains in Sorvoi, frost creeping over my skin. Judith pulls her hand from mine before the ice touches her, but I barely notice. I try to reassure myself, convince my heart that I will see Brailey again, hold her, kiss her. 

She is here. Somewhere. Alive. 

She has to be. 

I focus on breathing, the frost slowly breaking off my skin. 

Calm down. 

We run until we reach an intersection in the corridor, skidding to a halt, breathing heavily. 

I listen, holding my breath, straining to hear anything down the halls that suggest which one to go down. I turn to Judith, who is listening as hard as me, opening my mouth to speak.  

Before I get a word out, a gut-wrenching wail of anguish rips through the stale air. 

Brailey.