They huddled a short distance away, voices low, backs half-turned toward the bound Bert.

  Bloodied Bert watched them anyway.

  “I don’t like this,” Harlada said. Her grip on her staff hadn’t loosened since the fight. “He’s unstable. He already attacked us without hesitation.”

  “He was in a berserker state,” Leo replied quietly. “Pain, loss, isolation. That does things to people.”

  “That doesn’t make him safe,” Harlada snapped.

  Leo hesitated, then said, “An enemy of our enemy… is, for now, a friend.”

  Harlada exhaled sharply through her nose. “You say that like the Maze won’t punish us for believing it.”

  Bert hadn’t spoken yet.

  He was staring at the other Bert.

  At the blood, the ropes, the familiar shape twisted into something feral.

  Finally, he said, “Remember Bearded Leo?”

  Leo stiffened.

  “From Level One,” Bert continued. “The one who was so angry he tried to sell us out. Even when it meant dying himself.”

  Harlada nodded slowly. She remembered. Everyone did.

  “That wasn’t strategy,” Bert said. “That was rage.”

  He looked back at Bloodied Bert.

  “Imagine what a Bert would do.”

  Silence.

  Harlada swallowed. “He wouldn’t think. He wouldn’t plan. He’d just… go.”

  Leo rubbed his temple. “Which means if we untie him, he can’t be alone.”

  “Ever,” Harlada said immediately.

  “If he’s with us,” Leo continued, “he can’t turn on us without warning. And if he does—”

  “We’re already here,” Bert finished.

  They all looked at the ropes again.

  Bloodied Bert stopped struggling. His breathing slowed, just enough to listen.

  “Alright,” Bert said at last. “But we do this clean.”

  They approached together.

  Harlada cut the ropes first. Bert stepped back as soon as the last knot fell. Leo held a potion ready, thumb already on the cork.

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  “No tricks,” Harlada warned.

  Bloodied Bert laughed weakly. “You think I have the energy for tricks?”

  Leo handed him the potion. “Drink.”

  He did.

  The color returned to his face slowly. The wild edge dulled—not gone, but quieter. More focused.

  He wiped his mouth and looked at them.

  “…So,” he said hoarsely. “What’s the plan?”

  No one answered immediately.

  The hum of the maze changed slightly as if it did not like this latest development.

  ***

  Leo and Harlada stepped into the agreed area together.

  Open ground. Clear sightlines. No obvious traps.

  The other trio was already there—standing close, relaxed in the way only people who thought they were winning could be. Their Leo raised a hand in greeting. Their Harlada smiled. Their Bert waved enthusiastically.

  “Hi,” Leo said, keeping his voice neutral.

  “Hey,” Harlada added.

  Their Bert moved immediately.

  Too immediately.

  He walked forward, broad smile in place, and slipped himself neatly between them. Before either could step away, his arms were already draped over their shoulders—heavy, familiar, wrong.

  “Whoa,” Leo said. “Personal space—”

  Harlada felt it then.

  The static.

  A sharp, crawling sensation raced up her spine as her muscles locked in place. Her staff slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a hollow clatter.

  “Paralyse,” she hissed.

  Too late.

  Her legs froze. Her arms went rigid. Even her jaw locked mid-breath.

  Leo felt it a heartbeat later. His fingers spasmed, then refused to move at all. His knees buckled—but didn’t fall. He was held upright by the weight of the other Bert’s arm.

  “Well,” Leo muttered, barely able to move his lips, “if I get put in a statue pose again, I’m writing a very angry letter.”

  The other trio stepped back.

  Watching.

  Calculating.

  The Maze hummed.

  Not its usual background thrum.

  This time, it vibrated—loud, sharp, almost offended.

  Behind them in the corridors, Two Berts. One wore a worried brow. the other was smiling.

  ***

  The three of them stepped back into a loose triangle.

  Evil Leo was the first to speak.

  “Where’s their Bert?” he demanded, eyes flicking down the corridor. “You paralyzed them without extracting anything.”

  Evil Bert scoffed. “I handled it efficiently.”

  “Efficiently?” Evil Leo snapped. “You froze them in place and learned nothing. We still don’t know if they brought him, if he’s circling, or if he—”

  “Enough,” Evil Harlada said sharply.

  Both of them stopped.

  She had gone very still.

  Her head tilted slightly, eyes unfocused—not on Leo, not on Bert, but on the space beyond them. One hand lifted just enough to silence further argument.

  “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

  Evil Bert frowned. “Hear what?”

  Evil Leo opened his mouth to argue—

  —and then paused.

  The Maze’s hum was still there, but layered beneath it now was something else. Soft. Rhythmic. Almost deliberate.

  A sound that did not belong to stone.

  Not footsteps.

  Not breath.

  Something heavier.

  Closer.

  Evil Harlada’s fingers tightened around her staff. “He’s not gone,” she said quietly. “He’s waiting.”