His hands hovered in hesitation, unsure of what to do. Then, slowly, they wrapped around her trembling form. With gentle care, his right hand patted her back.
"It's okay… I'm here," he whispered softly.
But inside, his mind was a storm.
Shit… what do I even do right now?
"What happened?" he asked quietly, already suspecting the answer.
Probably a nightmare… maybe something worse…
"I'll stay with you for a while," he added, voice calm but sincere.
Art reached over and grabbed his black tailored coat, draping it gently over Emery's shoulders. She continued to whimper softly, burying her face into the fabric of his white polo shirt, clutching it as though it were the only thing grounding her.
After a few moments, her breathing steadied, and the tremors in her shoulders began to calm. Art crouched down, picking up her panties and shorts.
"You should put these on now," he said in a softer tone than usual, holding them out to her.
Emery nodded, still silent. She took the clothes and turned slightly away as she began to dress. A few minutes passed in stillness before she finally stood up, looking more composed.
"Let's go," Art said, extending his hand to her.
She reached out and took it, shyly, her grip light but firm.
They walked together through the winding maze, following the path where Kret and the others had gone. Silence lingered between them, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Should I ask her about what happened earlier…? Art thought. No… it's not my place.
Besides, if it's trauma, bringing it up could make it worse. I've read about that… and even used it before… when torturing people.
The thought lingered grimly.
Eventually, they reached a fork in the path a double-way split, left and right.
"Hmm… where did they go?" Art muttered. "No marks or signs on either path…"
He glanced at Emery. "Do you have any idea?"
She shook her head silently.
If only I had a magnifying glass… maybe I could trace fingerprints or pressure marks, Art mused. Assuming they touched anything at all.
"Alright, how about we go right?" he said, shrugging. "It's always right, right?"
"Sure…" Emery replied softly.
They headed down the right-hand path.
Please let this be the path they took, Art thought, clicking his tongue quietly.
Kret and the Others – POV
"Hey… are we sure we should be going this way?" Raphael asked, his voice echoing slightly in the corridor.
Kret turned to look at him. "Why do you ask?"
"Well… we didn't even leave a mark on which path we chose," Raphael pointed out, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Hm, come to think of it… isn't the left path always the bad one in these things?" Hans said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Well," Kret replied with a grin, "on one of my past missions, going right usually meant walking into traps spikes, pitfalls, that kind of thing."
"Interesting," Solomon muttered as he adjusted his glasses. "This place does seem designed with psychological tricks in mind. Maybe the designers purposely reversed expectations."
"Exactly!" Kret beamed. "See? This scholar's got a brain!"
"Heh, having a smart-ass on the team isn't so bad after all," Kret thought, chuckling to himself. Then he added aloud, "Besides, I trust Art to think this through. He's got the brain of an assassin, right? What do they call those guys?"
"Like... 'himan'?" Raphael guessed, squinting.
"Hitman," Hans corrected. "They're like assassins for hire. Paid to take someone out."
"Yeah, that's the one!" Kret snapped his fingers. "Art's definitely got that vibe."
Back to Art and Emery
"They really went deep into this maze, huh…" Art muttered, eyes scanning the corridor ahead.
"Yeah… we've been walking for a while," Emery replied.
Art glanced at her. She's speaking normally again. Looks like her usual self is coming back…
"We should probably keep going. Maybe they're waiting on the other side," Art said, his voice calm but cautious. "Though I still don't see anyone through the glass…"
They might've taken the left path… but we've come too far to turn back now.
As they walked deeper, the air grew colder thicker. The silence felt heavier.
Then, they stopped.
Lying on the ground ahead was a man dressed in a noble white uniform, adorned with intricate floral embroidery now stained with dark, drying blood.
His white hair was messy, matted with sweat and red streaks.
"Huh…?" Art narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer.
The man's face was pale, but his eyes
They were open.
Wide, unblinking.
And impossibly deep.
Like an abyss.