Morning arrived with a brittle edge, the tense hush of another day coiling around the interns as they filed into the Manager’s office. A stale, artificial light cast harsh shadows across the polished floor, and Edris noted the thinning group, having reached an all-time low since they entered.

  Celio lingered close to Edris, while Yesteria waited off to the side. Terrace stood near the wall, gaze sliding from face to face.

  At the front, the Manager entered with an unhurried gait. Edris couldn’t ignore the long look the horse-headed figure cast his way—an accusing sideglance, perhaps hinting he knew more about last night than he let on. But the man offered no direct comment.

  Instead, he halted in the center of the main office, posture stiff.

  “Good morning,” the Manager said curtly, his eyes sweeping them over in precise gesture. “I must announce that although all of you have completed your intern tasks, only one person will be able to move on to being a full-time employee due to the company’s scarce resources.”

  An uneasy pause followed. The Manager nodded, lifting a hand in Ysteria’s direction. The latter stepped forward slightly, eyes bright with expectation.

  Then, the direction of his hand swerved, gesturing at the man beside her minstead.

  “Terrace, that is you.”

  In the breath of a heartbeat, Yesteria’s head snapped up in shock, eyes wide. She half-rose from her seat, looking back at the Manager as though certain she misheard.

  “What…? That can’t be right. No, that’s impossible!” she insisted. “I was with Terrace all night, finishing tasks side by side! We did everything together, so I know—he couldn’t have outperformed me. I was even faster finishing the tasks—”

  Edris watched the swirl of confusion flood the young woman’s features. She paused to glance at him and Celio, perhaps seeking help.

  “I am afraid the record stands. Please be a good sport, Intern Yesteria,” the horseman said, a sigh slipping into his otherwise measured tone. “We would hate for you to follow the same path as Intern Rico and Intern Morris, yes?”

  That name caused a hush. Yesteria’s knuckles went white. She stared at Terrace once more, clarity dawning in her expression contorted from disbelief to raw anger.

  “You—” she started, the single word saturated with betrayal. “You tricked me, didn’t you?”

  The man only shrugged, glasses glinting in the sterile light.

  “So it was!? You were the one feeding me nonsense about how Rico stole tasks from me. You said you saw her messing with my data, but you were lying! All this time—”

  Terrace kept his distance, sliding behind the Manager as though seeking his shield. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he murmured, tipping his glasses with his index finger. His face stayed blandly polite, but Edris recognized a certain smugness in the man’s posture.

  On the sidelines, Celio shot Edris a questioning look. He said nothing, but Edris knew what he wanted to ask. His response was low enough for Celio’s ears alone.

  “He’s acquainted with Jagon, after all.”

  They’d all seen the type of person Jagon was. Anyone with sense would’ve run a mile, or at least distance themselves for the better. Yet Terrace remained, for all those years, too–either he was equally unscrupulous or had his own ends to pursue.

  He watched as the man put on a startled expression, ducking slightly behind the Manager’s frame and mouth set in a startled line.

  It was that same slippery innocence he’d seen before. From the snitch in the second cycle to Rico’s downfall in the third—now, it appeared he’d sabotaged Yesteria’s part of the job in the final hour, letting her take the fall.

  Edris shook his head once.

  “Two peas in a pod.”

  “I’m sorry,” Terrace murmured. He tipped his glasses with a helpless sigh. “But I don’t see how this is my fault.”

  Rico’s pulse hammered in her throat. She bared her teeth, bristling with the urge to lunge at him, but the presence of the Manager’s guards – the serpentine figures looming behind – dissuaded her. Edris let his breath go slowly, standing at the sidelines, reading the swirl of emotions in the room.

  “Master, what should we do?” Celio gulped as he turned towards Edris. The latter did not speak, only focusing his eyes on the scene.

  He was waiting for something.

  “Now, now,” the Manager said with a light, placating tone. Usually, the horseman relished these petty dramas, thriving on tension, but today he seemed impatient.

  “Intern Yesteria. We do not tolerate outbursts in the workplace. Kindly remain calm.” He twisted to Terrace, voice cool. “Go in and claim your reward.”

  Terrace dipped his head, mouth curving in a near-smile. He started forward, stepping around Yesteria with a mild air of condescension. In the corner, Celio tensed, his face showing quiet sympathy for Yesteria, who had evidently been played.

  What no one expected happened in a breath. Yesteria lunged, eyes wild, snatching a shimmering card from her pocket. The flickering symbols on it betrayed its nature before Edris even finished registering what he saw:

  An attack card?

  He never suspected Yesteria had such a thing. Terrace, who was about to slip away into the office, froze at the sight of the swirling energy on Yesteria’s card. He turned in place, confusion flickering into genuine alarm.

  But in a single, abrupt motion, Yesteria lunged. There was no hesitation as she whipped out a card from nowhere, a swirl of destructive power glinting along its edge as it transformed into a blade.

  Time froze in the office, tension winding like a drawn bowstring. The Manager lurched backward, eyes flaring. Celio gasped, half-moving to intervene. Yesteria’s face, twisted by betrayal, locked onto Terrace.

  But all was too late.

  One moment, Terrace was edging toward the Manager for protection; the next, he lay sprawled on the floor, staring up in disbelief at Yesteria. A knife gleamed from the ragged wound in his side, blood already staining his intern uniform.

  Yesteria stood above him, chest heaving, a chilling calm in her eyes. The baggy sleeves of her uniform had fallen away from her forearms, revealing corded muscles that Edris hadn’t realized were there. He watched from a short distance, his mind flickering through possibilities.

  Morris had called his granddaughter spoiled and naive, but evidently, the young woman was not your typical princess.

  Terrace struggled, gasping, looking at Yesteria in shock. “You—” he managed, but pain stole his words. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to push so far—assumed she was easy to manipulate, all bark and no bite.

  “I’d hoped to use you longer,” she said quietly, an indescribable sadness coating her tone. “At least until we’d narrowed things down to just the two of us.”

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  She paused, eyes flickering with suppressed anger. “But you got greedy.”

  A blade glowed dully in her hand as his blood pattered onto the floor. Then she tilted her head, speaking with a slight tremor that even she didn’t notice.

  “A prey can only remain a prey for so long.”

  Blood pooled under Terrace, dark and spreading. The serpent-headed guards rushed in from the corridor. But the Manager stayed where he was, clearly relishing this unexpected turn. The silence pressed in, an eerie spectacle as everyone realized Yesteria had just upended the group’s fragile equilibrium.

  Edris glanced from the limp Terrace to Yesteria’s trembling hand.

  Perhaps the woman was more cunning than anyone gave her credit for. The Labyrinth taught them to survive, no matter the cost, and she had learned it at a speed exceeding any of their expectations.

  Morris would’ve appreciated that audacity—Edris thought—or maybe dreaded it just as much.

  Finally, the Manager gave a theatrical sigh and nodded toward two of the staff.

  “Take him to Wellness,” he announced in a feigned tone of concern. “Quickly. Wouldn’t want him to die just yet—we've already wasted too much time.”

  Terrace convulsed lightly, clutching his abdomen. The wound, though brutal, had thankfully missed his vital points. Still, he grimaced in disbelief as the serpent guards hoisted him up. His glasses slipped down his nose, sinking into the pool of blood beneath him.

  Even in his last moments, his expression was more astonished than pained. He simply had not seen this coming.

  At the center of the carnage, Yesteria remained unmoving. She stood there, knife still clutched in her fist, her breath ragged. Then, after a still moment, she turned toward the Manager—whose equine face revealed neither shock nor sympathy—and exhaled a trembling breath.

  Then, she advanced again, her knife still dripping with blood from the strike she’d delivered to Terrace moments before. Time seemed to crawl as she set her sights on Celio and Edris.

  “He’s right,” she muttered, eyes dark, “we’ve wasted enough time.”

  Celio slid into her path, arms up and stance set.

  “Stay back,” he warned, voice cracking slightly. Even so, there was determination in the boy’s posture; he wasn’t letting her near Edris. With all her talk of taking out the competition, it appeared she was determined to end this chaos here and now, aiming to eliminate them both.

  For an instant, neither moved.

  Edris felt a strange calm settle over him, watching Yesteria’s glare pin onto him with a fierce intensity. He had studied people long enough to recognize the heat behind someone’s eyes right before a murder. Yet in the young woman’s gaze, he saw something else.

  “You think you can take me on,” she muttered, voice tight. The corners of her mouth almost quivered, as if stuck between a snarl and something close to tears. “Give it a try, then. Or are you too scared?”

  “Stay where you are!” Celio warned. He quickly peered behind his shoulder, lowering his voice. “Master, although she has experience with the blade, she’s still an amateur. I can tell. If a fight truly unfolds between us, just leave it to me–”

  But Edris placed a light hand on the boy’s shoulder, halting him.

  “It’s fine.”

  Yesteria lifted the blade, shoulders coiled as if preparing for a final stand. For a moment, Edris read it as a real threat—and yet, the flicker in her eyes gave her away.

  Instead of the raw predatory stare, he saw a thread of desperation—an unspoken plea. He caught it in the slight tremor of her knuckles, the ragged edge in her breathing.

  “It’s one against two,” Edris said, his tone quiet, measured, “I’d give up if I were you.”

  Yesteria’s lips twitched in a humorless smirk. “Numbers mean nothing.” Her voice trembled at the edges. “Or are you just this afraid of someone like me?”

  Edris didn’t respond to her provocation–he’d already reached a conclusion.

  She was outmatched by their numbers, forced to stand alone with a single blade. If she genuinely wanted them gone, she would wait for a better opportunity. Instead, she advanced without caution, ignoring all the signs that indicated her downfall if she continued.

  An act of suicide—that's what it was. Instead of dying by the hands of the Labyrinth, she wanted to die by the hands of real people.

  Yesteria was gazing at Edris with fire in her eyes, but all Edris saw was a desperate plead.

  Kill me first.

  I'm sick of this place.

  Let me die free.

  At that moment, Edris thought Morris was right after all—she was quite an innocent young lady.

  “What are you waiting for?!” Yesteria snarled, stepping closer, trying to hold Edris’s stare. Her expression flickered, the rancor in her eyes not matching the tremor in her mouth. “If you get rid of me, you might just pass.”

  The room fell silent. Even Celio sensed the shift, the hollow bravado in her words. Edris could hear the Manager’s audible breath at his flank, waiting with some dark amusement—like he was hoping for a savage outbreak between them.

  Edris didn’t move, only watching with lidded eyes.

  “If only one person can pass at a time,” he said evenly, “we’ll just face another cycle if we keep dragging this out.”

  Something about his indifferent tone hung in the air. Celio spun around, startled. “Master?!”

  The Manager made no move to break the tension. He observed with mild delight, content to see them tear each other apart. It was precisely the scenario that the Labyrinth thrived on.

  Edris didn’t elaborate. He met Yesteria’s gaze, expression strangely calm, as though trying to measure her next move. She kept inching closer, blade angled toward them both.

  At that moment, it looked like she might lunge at Edris or Celio any second. The Manager, standing at a short remove, watched with a mingled scowl and grim satisfaction, as though waiting for blood to be spilled.

  “It’s much faster this way,” Edris murmured, eyes straying over Yesteria’s form. He offered no explanation—only words that set Celio on edge further.

  Yesteria’s posture tensed. Her chest rose and fell, as if she were bracing for some final attack. The Manager tilted his head, a sour grin contorting his long equine muzzle.

  “Faster?” Yesteria repeated under her breath, knife trembling in her grip.

  Then everything happened at once.

  She sprang forward like lightning, eyes flashing with raw determination. Celio lunged to intercept—but Yesteria’s body twisted halfway through her stride, pivoting away from him entirely.

  In a heartbeat, she swept the knife around, burying it deep into the left of the Manager’s chest!

  A stunned gasp ripped through the air. The Manager staggered, letting out a strangled roar. He looked down to the weapon protruding from his uniform—blood already staining the crisp white fabric. Yesteria’s teeth ground together, as if she’d poured every last shred of strength into the blow.

  The Manager let out a choked sound, half snort and half gasp, then glanced down at the embedded knife.

  The next second, his face contorted with an odd mixture of pain and dark humor. He met Yesteria’s stunned eyes with a twisted grin.

  “Nice try.”

  She wrenched the blade, voice catching in her throat. “But I hit your he—”

  Without giving time to react, the horseman surged forward, immense strength blasting her away from him as if she weighed nothing. Yesteria tumbled backward with a yelp, the knife handle yanking from her grasp.

  Yesteria tried to regain her footing. For one stunned second, she wondered how he could still stand at all.

  The horseman was on all fours at this point. He lurched, staggering but not collapsing. His gaze locked on her with cold fury, hooves scraping against the tile in preparation to trample.

  Then, he advanced.

  Yesteria shut her eyes, bracing herself to be trampled with a single stomp.

  Then, a deafening shout tore from the side. In a flash, a gust of movement tore her away from immediate danger. Celio lunged in, hooking his arm around her waist and hauling her across the floor with unexpected agility. She collapsed into his arms, gasping at the sudden jolt.

  “Are you okay?” The beast tamer asked, eyes darting over her in worry.

  Yesteria’s breath came in ragged bursts, her mind reeling. Any reply was cut short when a coarse, guttural wail erupted across the office.

  Instinctively, she twisted around—just in time to see a dark-haired figure right behind the Manager. He seemed to have materialized out of thin air, and in his grasp was a long, gleaming spear.

  The next second, the Manager jerked forward, his furious momentum halted at once as the spear transfixed him through the center of his chest.

  He let out a strangled cry, truly shocked this time. As the hulking figure collapsed, Yesteria looked on, too stunned to speak. Her gaze darted to the man holding the spear.

  Where Edris even conjured such a weapon, she couldn’t fathom. The spear was taller than him by two whole heads, unthinkably heavy for someone of his lean build. Yet the strike had been precise, a savage thrust that left the Manager pinned, his hooves scraping the tile.

  Had Edris been hiding that skill all along? Yesteria blinked, still dizzy from the fall. Everything happened so fast that she was still trying to process the situation.

  Across the room, the Manager let out a ragged sound—some mix of equine shriek and human gasp—hands clawing at the spear’s shaft. Blood slicked the polished floor.

  Standing over him was Edris, keeping a firm hold on the weapon that was beginning to dissipate into the air. Then, he turned around. Even over the Manager’s dying gasp, his voice was still deceptively soft.

  “A horse’s heart isn’t on the left, Miss Yesteria.”