Queen Ophelia shifts her body like she knows our time together is running out. “Wherever you are, it feels cold. But you needn’t feel afraid of the cold.”

“There are far worse things, I’m told,” I say, and pull my mind from her like I’m shutting a window against the breeze. When it latches, I open my eyes and find the ragged bark of the tree pressing into my side, scratching at my wounds.

I stuff my hands in my pockets to fight the night chill, when my finger finds something smooth. I pull out the piece of red sea glass, the color nearly black in the shadows.

I’m in the middle of the Labyrinth, without a friend or a weapon or a way out. But I do have this.

The thought makes me laugh, and tears build from exhaustion. The doubt I’m used to leaves me, and I set to work trying to shape the piece of rounded glass into something new.

I work for hours in the hollow of the tree, even when the whispers return and fill the jungle around me with hissing.

I work until my fingers ache and my eyes go hazy.

I work until I’ve gone over my conversation with Ophelia again and again.

I work until sleep pulls me away from Infinity.

Even as I sleep, dreaming of forgiveness and resistance and what it means to be somewhere in between, the shard of red glass remains wedged in my hand.

And it’s shaped like a dagger.

Light warms my face, and I wake to a sea of emerald green. I sit up, feeling a horrible cramp in my neck, and crawl out of the hollow. When I stretch my body in the open air, relief greets me.

The whispers have gone. There are no signs of Residents.

I’ve made it through the night.

And maybe it’s a silly thing to be proud of, but I am. I feel resilient. Capable. And if Ahmet and Theo are okay, maybe I even did something right.

One glance skyward tells me there’s still a long way to go before I reach the top of the mountain. I hold up the unfinished weapon in my hand, running my finger along the edge. It’s not sharp enough to be a blade, but it’s a start.

I tuck the red knife in my belt and continue the steep climb.

I use stray vines to help me over the tallest rocks and try to limit my cursing each time I take a wrong step and slide back down the hill. The ground is too wet, and my hands are blistered and clammy. But any unnecessary noise could attract attention.

I may be lost, but not too lost to know that I’m still in enemy territory.

Hours pass, and it feels like days.