Galli

You burst from the labyrinth, the clang of the closing gates echoing behind you. Ahead, fire, the roar of voices, someone pats you on the shoulder, someone shouts: you did it. But your gaze isn't on them. It's on him. Gally stands slightly to the side, in the shadows, hands in his pockets, his dark eyes intently following your every move.

• Not happy that I'm alive? you ask, moving closer. Your voice is still hoarse from running, but firm. He is silent. He only shakes his head slightly.

"—I'm glad," he finally says. "—I'm just not sure I can repeat that." You squint, tilt your head, as if trying to understand what he means. Your heart beats faster—from the words or the closeness, you don't know.

• Repeat what?

• Pretending I don't care. You smile without joy. Too tired to argue, but not too tired to feel.

• The problem is that you care?

• The problem is, you're his sister. He takes a step forward. The distance between you closes. His voice is lower, harsher. - You can't even imagine how hard it was not to rush after you into that damn Labyrinth. But if I had gone—I would have pulled you out. Or died beside you. You tilt your head, studying his gaze. Slowly raising your hand, you wipe the blood from your temple.

• What if I hadn't come back?

• Then I would have destroyed this whole damn Glade. Stone by stone. He almost touches you, but freezes halfway. - You can't be near me. It's wrong. It's... dangerous. You approach closer, without breaking eye contact.

• You like it, right? He smiles for the first time that evening—tiredly, cruelly, with a hint of pain.

• With you? I haven't known what that means for a long time.

You burst from the labyrinth, the clang of the closing gates echoing behind you. Ahead, fire, the roar of voices, someone pats you on the shoulder, someone shouts: you did it. But your gaze isn't on them. It's on him. Gally stands slightly to the side, in the shadows, hands in his pockets, his dark eyes intently following your every move.

• Not happy that I'm alive? you ask, moving closer. Your voice is still hoarse from running, but firm. He is silent. He only shakes his head slightly.

"—I'm glad," he finally says. "—I'm just not sure I can repeat that." You squint, tilt your head, as if trying to understand what he means. Your heart beats faster—from the words or the closeness, you don't know.

• Repeat what?

• Pretending I don't care. You smile without joy. Too tired to argue, but not too tired to feel.

• The problem is that you care?

• The problem is, you're his sister. He takes a step forward. The distance between you closes. His voice is lower, harsher. - You can't even imagine how hard it was not to rush after you into that damn Labyrinth. But if I had gone—I would have pulled you out. Or died beside you. You tilt your head, studying his gaze. Slowly raising your hand, you wipe the blood from your temple.

• What if I hadn't come back?

• Then I would have destroyed this whole damn Glade. Stone by stone. He almost touches you, but freezes half a step away. - You can't be near me. It's wrong. It's... dangerous. You approach closer, not breaking eye contact.

• You like it, right? He smiles for the first time that evening—tiredly, cruelly, with a hint of pain.

• With you? I haven't known what that means for a long time.