𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝒁𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑺 hot. Hotter than it had been the previous night, sunlight fell over it in bright patches of gold and orange. It felt, again, as if it were alive. Not just a concordant pattern of overlapping walls, but an organism, something living and breathing. The vines were hissing, bursting out through the stone walls and slathered in a glistening layer of moisture, sweating, teeming with life. The air was heavy, thick with the taste of metal and baking trash. And there was a foggy sense of unease that Emis hadn't picked up on last time—she'd been so concentrated on staying alive. But it was there. The feeling of someone standing behind her, watching between a crack in the walls where the light couldn't touch. She kept jerking her head over her shoulder, expecting to see the woman in white, or the boy with his clipboard, or the nameless, faceless little girl, stringing along behind them with her dark hair limp over her shoulders.
Drawn too deep into her thoughts, Emis had lost focus on running. It had been easy, the artificial strength had come back, and she had been breathing evenly, slowly, as if her feet weren't supposed to sting as they hit the ground. As if she'd been walking, enjoying the heat of the sun on her back between her shoulder blades and barely breaking a sweat. It was the kind of strength that made her feel powerless—fake strength, spinning her veins into wires that surged with volts of electricity instead of blood. Reminding her that she was anything but human. But it had given her room to get distracted, and the solid wall loomed up in front of her without warning as she crashed into it.
Vision spinning, Emis took a few steps backwards to regain her balance. The sheer force of the flat, hard surface had knocked her back a few feet, and, wiping her hands on the rough, synthetic material of her leggings, she glanced up. She felt the blood go cold in her veins.
She hadn't crashed into a wall. She had crashed into Ryan. He was staring at her, his eyes a cold, bright snap against the setting sunlight; his entire body had a stiff, strung tension to it, hands clenched into fists by his side. His expression was murderous.
"Watch yourself." He said, his voice still, dangerous. Static and tense the way a snake would pause before it struck its prey. "Looks like you're really making an effort to piss me off, Emis."
She swallowed the rising nausea, fighting the urge to punch him in the face. Again. In any other situation, she would have apologised profusely. But something in the back of her head made it feel impossible to apologise to him. Not just because of what he'd said, or done. It felt like instinct. She grit her teeth. "It's you who seems to keep getting in my way." The corner of his mouth twitched.
