The Hedge Maze Opens

1am

It was past midnight. For a few seconds, Claire existed only as a memory of herself, a quantum flicker in a vacuum, and then she was slammed into place, body and soul, by a **** that felt like a gloved hand tightening around her spine. One moment she was nowhere; the next, she was upright, barefoot, and blinking in the Labyrinth of Ribbons.

She adjusted her glasses. She inhaled, and nearly choked: the air was thick with a scent so cloying it felt weaponized, a perfume that rolled through her sinuses and took up residence behind her eyes. It wasn’t just floral. It was layered: the initial hit of orange blossom, then something heady and resinous, then an aftertaste of clean ozone that left her feeling both sedated and vaguely threatened. She cataloged the notes instantly—gardenia, freesia, indole, some high-test aldehyde that would most likely have violated OSHA guidelines back in Boston—but the composition itself was foreign. More than that, it was alive. Each breath changed the mix. The maze, Claire decided, wanted her to know she was being watched.

She ran her fingers over the surface of her arm, confirming that the ribbon was still there, snug just below her deltoid. It throbbed, a soft blue pulse, the color of glacier water under a full moon. She could sense Andy’s attention on her, too: concern, trust, affection. That connection centered her.

The hedges that formed the walls of the Labyrinth were monstrous: at least twelve feet high, leaves glossy and dark as bottle glass, each bract shaped like a shovel blade and just as sharp. The foliage wasn’t static, either. It shifted, minutely, but constantly. Claire saw it at once: every twelve seconds, a subtle shiver ran through the entire row of leaves, a wave that traveled in one direction before rebounding as a counter-wave. She watched it for a full minute, fingers ticking off the intervals, until she was certain it was a clock, or at least a system of signaling. Arabella, of course, would never let the world run on pure chance.

Softly glowing blossoms protruded from the walls at irregular intervals. They cast a light not unlike the aurora: milky, almost edible, with a faint pink undertone that made every object seem slightly veiled. The flowers pulsed independently, some in short, staccato flashes, others in long, slow exhalations. Claire moved closer to one, ignoring the warning tingle that rolled down her spine, and saw that the petals themselves were dusted with a substance that looked like fine, iridescent powder. She inhaled again, and the sweetness nearly dropped her to her knees.

She **** herself to focus, to build a map. The corridor before her split after twenty yards, one path veering sharply right, the other left. The leftward path seemed darker, with fewer blossoms and almost no ambient light; the right was flooded with blue and red flashes, as if beckoning her toward something urgent. She pictured the aerial view instantly, the geometry of the maze, the possible loops and dead ends, and tried to anticipate the logic of whoever had designed it. There would be traps. There would be decoys. But there would also be patterns, because nothing truly random could ever persist for long in a closed system.

Claire’s second transformation—the cat ears and tail—were more than cosmetic. The Puuuurfectly Quiet transformation meant that her movements were now fundamentally different. Her feet made no sound, if she wanted, not even when she landed on the balls of them or brushed against the razor-edged leaves. She tested it, walking first with normal steps, then on tiptoe, then at a dead sprint. Nothing.

She felt the rush of relief and panic in equal measure. No one would hear her coming.

She checked the message she’d written before the challenge—a sentence scribbled on thick, fibered paper, tucked neatly into the elastic band of her bikini top. The plan was the plan. If she could find the others, she could win this, or at least break the system enough to **** a draw. Andy had done it. So could she.

She moved forward, senses stretched to the breaking point. At every corner, she paused to listen, but only the barest hints of movement echoed through the hedges. Once, she thought she heard a gasp—a human noise, sharp and close—but it was gone before she could turn her head. At another turn, she caught a flash of magenta, maybe Emi, maybe a trick of the light. She catalogued these anomalies, assigned them weights, then recalculated her route based on the risk of each. It was the only way she knew how to operate: observe, predict, adapt.

She followed the leftward path, the darker one, because her gut told her that most of the others would go toward the light. In low illumination, her eyes adjusted so rapidly that she wondered if the cat DNA had overridden her original prescription. She moved past a stand of low, velvety mushrooms—definitely another hazard—and skirted a puddle of something viscous that vibrated when she drew near. She avoided touching anything if she could help it, but the maze was engineered for intimacy, and sometimes the petals reached for her anyway, brushing her skin with cool, sticky kisses. She felt every touch, every caress, and with each one, her arousal ticked up a notch.

That was the other part of her analysis: the ribbons weren’t just scoring the challenge. They were active, alive, and feeding off the wearer’s own biology. Claire felt it in her pulse, her breath, the slow heat that gathered at the base of her spine. It would be easy, dangerously easy, to get lost in the sensation. But that was how you lost, wasn’t it? Not by being bested, but by surrendering.

She spotted another clue, then: a faint shimmer on the hedge wall, almost like a watermark or a QR code. She stepped closer and read the sigil, and found that it was a diagram—an abstract, but unmistakably a map. The line that represented her current corridor was marked with a slash. Two dots, one gold, one pink, glowed at the next junction. The implication was clear: two contestants were close by.

If she could make contact, if she could persuade even one of them to trust her, the odds of gaming the system went up by an order of magnitude.

She picked up speed, all hesitation gone now. The plan was simple, really: If nobody eliminated anyone, and everyone held onto their ribbons until the end, then they could game the system in the same way as Andy had done during the first challenge. But the real beauty of the plan was that it subverted the logic of the game entirely, proved that the contestants could collaborate in a system designed to keep them apart. Andy had done it during the first challenge, refusing to let anyone be eliminated. Claire intended to do the same.

If she could sell it.

She flexed her right hand, feeling the slip of paper between her fingers. The note was short, but she’d rewritten it three times to maximize clarity. If she got even one chance to pass it along, she would.

She rounded the next corner, body tensed for a trap, but found only a widening of the path and a canopy of glowing ribbons overhead. They moved in a spiral, like the structure of a galaxy, and the sight was so mathematically beautiful that she lost focus for a moment, just staring, slack-jawed. Then she heard it—a whisper, too faint to parse, but undeniably human.

She advanced, soundless, until she was within striking range of the next intersection.

She waited, holding her breath, and then Emi stepped into view.

Elsewhere in the maze, Marissa materialized with the unceremonious thud of a human body being thrown at high speed. She caught herself on the nearest hedge, bracing against the flexing, rubbery surface, and **** her lungs to expand. The air was heavy, and so laced with sweet it might have been the inside of a perfume bottle, but she refused to cough. Instead, she did what she always did when the world went sideways: she counted her heartbeats. When they returned to baseline, she straightened, pressed her hand to the ribbon on her arm, and began walking.

She trusted Claire’s plan—she’d spent enough time around that peculiar, calligraphic mind to know that it was worth betting on. The only variable Marissa had never been able to model was her own capacity for self-sabotage. But she had promised herself, and Andy, that this time she’d play to win.

The labyrinth bent light as much as it bent space. At every junction, Marissa found herself disoriented, **** to recalibrate using the geometry of the hedge walls and the angle of the glowing blossoms. Occasionally, she caught the sharp reek of ozone—maybe just a byproduct of the maze’s own metabolism. She moved with careful steps, hands out, fingers splayed, the way she’d navigated dark, unfamiliar bedrooms as a child, searching for her mother in the aftermath of a nightmare.

The white of her bikini was almost radiant, and the ribbon on her arm was nearly lost against it. She checked her body for other changes, bracing for the worst, but found only the expected. So far, so good.

She heard footsteps, faint and distant, and froze. Instinct said to hide, but logic said there were better odds in making contact. She moved forward, not rushing, and let the maze unfold as it would.

Erin’s arrival was more of a deployment than a manifestation. She landed mid-stride, knees bent, arms ready, eyes wide open and already scanning the nearest line of sight for threats. The teal bikini did nothing to minimize her new proportions—in fact, it seemed engineered to maximize them—but she refused to fidget or tug at the fit.

Her ribbon glowed with a cold intensity, like a filament burning inside her arm. She gripped it, hard, just to prove she was still in charge of her own body.

The maze was alive, that much was obvious. Every breeze was a breath, every flicker of shadow a living thing. Erin moved with caution, taking the time to test each step before committing her weight. She ducked under a low arch of hedge, then pressed herself against the wall to avoid the drifting pollen from a cluster of lilies the size of salad plates.

She’d seen enough of Arabella’s games to know that the maze wouldn’t just let her walk to the finish line. There would be a test, and a twist, and a sting in the tail. But Erin wasn’t here to win the challenge—she was just here to not lose. She had just found Andy again, and she would fight to keep him this time.

She moved forward, keeping to the margins, always watching for the ripple of motion that might signal another contestant.

Emi’s entry was a disaster from the start. She landed in a pile of loamy mulch, face-first, and only avoided a mouthful of dirt because she was already screaming as she arrived. The six arms didn’t help—they just made the tangle worse, every limb fighting the others for purchase on the ground. It took a full fifteen seconds for her to extract herself and stand, and when she did, she was covered in a fine, sticky pollen that turned her usually pale skin a vibrant, embarrassing shade of magenta, nearly the same color as her bikini.

She brushed at her face, then at her arms, then at her bikini, but the stuff only smeared, never left. It took all six hands working in concert to get most of it off, but even then, her skin tingled, and her hair (once neatly trimmed into a bob) now billowed around her head like a storm cloud.

“Perfect,” she muttered, voice small but steady.

The corridor was narrow, the hedges on either side practically breathing, the leaves trembling in response to her every movement. The air here was denser, more perfumed than anywhere Emi had ever been, and with every breath, her heart rate ratcheted upward.

She tried to steady herself, recalling the breathing exercises she’d learned in group therapy, but her thoughts kept skittering. She **** herself to take inventory: ribbon present, arms accounted for, no injuries. Good. She could do this.

She took a few tentative steps, then a few more, each footfall feather-light. The maze seemed to reward her for moving: the air thinned, the light brightened, and a faint, musical chime sounded from somewhere up ahead. Emi let it guide her, as she always did, following beauty even when it led her into trouble.

The first person she found, she decided, she’d try to help. Even if it meant the end.

Sam’s entrance was pure slapstick. She emerged into the maze mid-laugh, tumbling forward in a way that was half-cartwheel, half pratfall. The bikini top, navy with a white stripe, was already in revolt, sliding off her left shoulder and threatening to expose her at every opportunity. She gave up on adjusting it by the time she hit the first wall.

She took stock of the situation, arms akimbo, then scanned her surroundings. The hedge here was softer, more yielding, almost inviting her to lean in and rest. She did, for a moment, just to prove she could, then pushed off and started down the corridor.

The ribbon on her arm was tight, but not uncomfortable. It felt like an old friendship bracelet—constant, visible, impossible to forget. Sam touched it, smiled, and kept walking.

She didn’t have a plan. She never did, not really. Plans were for people who believed the world followed rules. Instead, she trusted her instincts: move forward, keep talking, don’t get attached to any single outcome. The only part that worried her was the thought of letting Andy down. That, and the corgi. The rest was just noise, and noise was what Sam did best.

She rounded a corner and found herself in a chamber filled with glittering balloons, suspended at different heights. Some were clear, some iridescent, all of them wobbling gently as if waiting to be batted. Sam grinned, couldn’t resist, and slapped one with the back of her hand. It popped instantly, showering her with a dust that tingled on contact.

She laughed, wiped her face, and moved on, more energized than ever. Whatever happened next, she was ready for it.

Chloe didn’t so much enter the maze as collapse into it, knees buckling at the instant of arrival. She landed on cool grass, inhaling deeply to ground herself. The smell was overwhelming: hyacinth, honeysuckle, a base note of sandalwood that reminded her of her grandmother’s old vanity. She opened her eyes, already braced for disappointment, but the world that greeted her was so beautiful she almost cried.

The blossoms glowed, each one a little lantern, casting the corridors in gentle, shifting color. The hedge walls loomed, but not in a threatening way—more like a fortress built to keep danger out. Chloe took solace in that, let it calm her. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic drumbeat of her heart, and **** herself to breathe.

Her ribbon was pink, a warm, soft color that reminded her of cupcake frosting or the inside of a conch shell. It was a small comfort, but she clung to it. She didn’t want to win; she just wanted to make it through without embarrassing herself, or, worse, letting down the people who believed in her.

She stood, brushed the grass off her knees, and took a hesitant step forward. The hedge whispered as she passed, a shush of leaves that almost sounded like encouragement.

She followed the sound, hoping it would lead her somewhere she belonged.

Norah arrived with a grunt and a curse, stumbling forward as the ground under her feet rearranged itself between steps. The hedge wall on her right caught her elbow, scraping off a thin line of skin, and she barely resisted the urge to punch it. Instead, she glared at the wall, as if daring it to try again, and then kept moving.

The corridor was narrow and dim, the light from the blossoms barely filtering through the dense overgrowth. Norah liked it that way: less attention, fewer surprises. She pressed herself flat against the wall, careful to keep her back to the hedge and her eyes on the open path ahead.

The ribbon was red—bold, almost mocking—and she found herself resenting it. Of all the colors, why that one? Why not black, or gray, or something that didn’t announce her presence to the entire universe? She shook her head, gritted her teeth, and moved forward.

The first thing she did was check for a pattern. Every three meters, the corridor jogged left, then right, creating a zig-zag. She tested it: two steps forward, one to the left, repeat. It worked for a while, until she hit a dead end. She swore, doubled back, and found the next corridor had shifted while she was inside the first.

She stopped, closed her eyes, and let the sound of the maze wash over her. There were voices—faint, distant, but real. If she could just triangulate the direction, she might be able to get ahead of the others, or at least avoid them long enough to formulate a better plan.

She waited, listening, and then took off down the corridor at a dead sprint. If the maze wanted to play dirty, she’d play dirtier.

Claire advanced down the corridor, eyes locked on the pattern of light and shadow that danced ahead. Her body had already learned to interpret the minute twitch of a blossom as warning, to read the shimmer of a hedge leaf as the start of a new hazard. She was moving faster now, confidence building in her bones. The Puuuurfectly Quiet transformation was uncanny—a kind of adaptive camouflage that dampened not just sound, but presence. Even the maze seemed to ignore her.

The next turn was sharp, and she slowed automatically, gliding to the edge and angling for maximum visibility. She peered around the corner, nostrils flaring to sample the air for any clues. There was a trace of sweat—human, nervous, sharp—and something else, something floral and almost edible.

Then she saw her.

Emi was inching along the far corridor, back to the wall, all six arms splayed like the rays of a starfish. Her skin was a patchwork of magenta splotches, the residue of some recent run-in with a pollen trap, and her bikini was barely holding together, every strap working overtime to keep up with the constant, twitchy movement of her limbs. The lower right hand clutched a blue-tinted water balloon, its surface shimmering with an oily, rainbow sheen.

Claire froze, calculating. The balloon was not just a toy—it was a weapon, likely loaded with some ultra-concentrated dose of aphrodisiac. Arabella had mentioned the "balloon hazards" in her pre-challenge briefing, and Claire had made a mental note to avoid them at all costs. Getting hit would not just slow you down; it could knock you out of the game entirely, or at least tilt the odds against you for every subsequent encounter.

But Emi didn't look like she intended to use it as a weapon. She looked terrified of it.

Claire crept closer, sticking to the shadows, closing the gap in half-meter increments. When she was within arm's length, she paused, then reached out and tapped Emi gently on the shoulder.

The effect was electric. Emi spun, all six arms flailing in a cartoon burst of panic. The balloon shot straight up, hit a branch, and ricocheted downward at terminal velocity. Emi shrieked and tried to dodge, but her own limbs got in the way, and she collapsed into a tangle of elbows and knees.

Claire saw it happening in slow motion: the balloon, the flinch, the falling body. She grabbed Emi by the wrist and yanked her backward just as the balloon detonated against the grass where her head had been a split-second earlier. The splash sent a mist of fluid up and out, a fine, sticky spray that coated both of them from the waist down.

The effect was instantaneous. Claire felt her skin ignite—a warmth, then a burning, then a flood of sensation that left her trembling. Her thighs went liquid. Emi's reaction was even more pronounced: she gasped, hands shooting to her face, then her belly, then curling into fists as the wave of arousal hit her. For a second, the two of them just sat there, breathing hard, unable to speak.

"Sorry," Emi whispered, voice trembling. "I didn't mean—I was just trying to—"

Claire cut her off with a finger to her lips. She fished out the message from her bikini top, unfolded it, and shoved it into Emi's nearest free hand.

Emi blinked, tried to focus, then read:

Andy saved us all last time. Now we save each other. No stealing—trust me.

Emi looked up, eyes wide, tears glimmering at the edges. "You want to…?"

Claire nodded, urgent. She mimed a sweeping motion with her arm, then tapped the note, hoping Emi would get the point.

Emi closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then nodded back. She looked down at her hands, counted them, and seemed reassured by their number. "Okay," she said, and smiled for the first time since landing in the maze. "Let's do it."

Claire stood, feeling the last aftershocks of the balloon's effect echoing through her system. She made a mental note to keep away from all future splash zones, then turned her attention to the path ahead. The map she’d seen earlier flashed in her mind: two contestants, gold and pink, marked at the next junction. Emi’s suit was magenta, but that probably registered as pink to the system. The next target would be someone else—maybe Marissa, maybe Liesa. Either way, time was short.

She motioned for Emi to follow, and together they moved in silence, Claire leading, Emi bringing up the rear with her arms curled protectively around her torso. Every now and then, one of Emi’s hands would reach out and brush Claire’s shoulder, as if to confirm she was still real.

The maze seemed to react to their alliance. The corridors widened, the light grew softer, and the blossoms shrank back just enough to let them pass without incident. Claire found herself wondering if the system had built in a co-operation bonus, or if it was just trying to lure them into a trap.

They covered ground quickly, moving from intersection to intersection, pausing only to listen for signs of life. Occasionally, they heard footsteps—sometimes fast and deliberate, sometimes slow and shuffling. Once, they caught a flash of white in the distance, too far to identify.

They pressed on, the pace picking up as they moved deeper into the maze. The arousal from the balloon was still humming in their blood, but it was manageable now—background noise, not a debilitating ****.

At the next fork, Claire made the call. She went left.

The corridor darkened immediately, the blossoms replaced by deep, waxy green leaves. The scent shifted, too, from floral to something more mineral, like crushed stone or river water. The silence was absolute, broken only by the faint thud of Claire’s heart.

Marissa’s instincts were as sharp as ever—she picked up the flicker of teal through the hedge wall before she heard the footfall. She paused, braced herself, then took two slow breaths and rounded the corner.

Erin was there, tall and coiled, leaning hard into the wall like she expected it to jump out and attack. Her arms were crossed high over her chest, which did more to accentuate her new proportions than conceal them. She eyed Marissa the way a wolf might eye a rival predator: sizing up, not backing down, waiting for the first mistake.

Marissa kept her hands visible, palms empty. “Hey,” she said, soft but unambiguous.

Erin’s gaze flicked from Marissa’s face to her hands and back, then lingered on the white bikini for a beat too long. “Hey,” she replied. “Don’t come any closer.”

Marissa smiled, a slow, therapist’s smile, and stopped where she was. “I just want to talk,” she said.

Erin snorted. “I’ve heard that before.”

Marissa studied her, taking inventory: jaw set, pupils dilated, breathing shallow and quick. She was wound so tight that Marissa was honestly impressed she hadn’t already bolted or lashed out. The ribbon on her arm was nearly vibrating with tension, the color shifting from deep teal to an almost-blinding aquamarine.

“You’re not here to eliminate anyone, are you?” Marissa asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. She understood Erin enough. She expected Erin didn't want to win, necessarily: she only wanted to make sure she wouldn't be eliminated.

Erin’s mouth twitched. “What’s it to you?”

Marissa shrugged, letting her shoulders relax. “There’s a plan. I think you’d like it, if you give it a chance.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed. “Whose plan? Yours?”

Marissa shook her head. “Claire’s.” She glanced down the corridor, listening for sounds of approach, but it was silent. “The idea is to work together. No stealing ribbons if we can help it.”

Erin’s body language didn’t change. If anything, she looked more suspicious. “Why should I believe you?”

Marissa considered her options. She could try logic, or appeal to Erin’s competitive streak, but both would probably backfire. Instead, she tried honesty.

“You and I both know how Arabella works,” Marissa said. “If we start playing her game, we’ll tear each other apart. That’s what the audience wants. But if we flip the script—if we all refuse to play—she can’t win. Neither can we, maybe, but at least we don’t lose.”

Erin stared, weighing the words. “What’s in it for you?” she asked.

Marissa shrugged. “Honestly? I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt. I’ve spent too many years watching people self-destruct for no good reason.” She paused, then added, “And I promised Andy I’d take care of you. All of you.”

The mention of Andy hit Erin like a slap—her jaw softened, and for a split second, she looked away. When she looked back, the suspicion was still there, but it was thinner, almost transparent.

“He told you to do this?” Erin asked.

“No,” Marissa replied. “But he’d want us to try. He always does.”

They stood there, the tension between them humming like a live wire. Erin finally uncrossed her arms, just enough to let her hands rest at her hips. “What’s the plan, exactly?”

Marissa explained, quickly and quietly: no one tries to steal a ribbon, no one gets eliminated. They team up, get to Claire in the center of the labyrinth. Whatever Claire had planned, Marissa trusted.

Erin listened, eyes steady on Marissa’s face the whole time. When Marissa finished, Erin huffed. “You really think the others will go for it?”

Marissa nodded. “I think they will.”

Erin mulled it over, then nodded. “Fine. But if you’re lying, I’ll make you regret it.”

Marissa chuckled. “Deal.”

Erin rolled her eyes, but the edge was gone. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

They walked side by side, neither in front nor behind. Erin was still wary, but she moved with purpose now, scanning every intersection, every shifting patch of shadow, as if expecting an ambush. Marissa admired the discipline, the relentless vigilance. She wondered, not for the first time, how many years of being abandoned or betrayed it took to build armor like that.

After a few minutes, Marissa started talking softly, recounting the spa day with Andy and the three-way détente that had almost—almost—felt like a real partnership. She painted the story with all the warmth she could muster, hoping to remind Erin of how it felt to be wanted, included, part of something bigger than herself.

Erin didn’t reply, but her steps slowed, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. She glanced at Marissa, then at the maze ahead, and said, “You really think this could work?”

Marissa nodded. “I do.”

A pause. Then, quietly: “I want it to,” Erin said.

They didn’t talk after that, just moved together, keeping pace and scanning the maze for signs of the others.

Liesa came to in the belly of the maze, clutching her ribs and gasping for air. The transfer from the beach to the Labyrinth of Ribbons left her staggered, as if someone had reached in and rewired her nerves with high-voltage cable. She knelt in the soft, wet grass, vision swimming, her heart pounding so hard she thought her chest would burst. For several seconds, she couldn’t remember how she got there, or even who she was. She blinked, and the world resolved itself into the warped green tunnel of the maze.

Her first thought was for Andy—was he watching, was he worried for her? The second was for Sam, the warmth of her hand and the laugh that made everything seem possible again. But the third, and strongest, was the heat that raced through her, a pulse that had started as embarrassment and blossomed into a need so sharp it bordered on pain.

The bikini Arabella had assigned her was periwinkle blue, as fragile and insubstantial as a watercolor. It felt both too tight and too loose, like it might dissolve at the first sign of sweat. Her breasts prickled with need, the nipples standing out in sharp relief against the slick fabric. Liesa tried to cover them with her arm, but the touch only made things worse. Her transformation, Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls, was acting up now that she only wore a bikini to keep its arousal at bay.

She **** herself upright, taking a few tentative steps. The hedge walls shimmered in the blue-white light, leaves shifting in and out of focus. With every movement, the maze seemed to breathe with her: the air thickened and thinned, the temperature shifted from tropical to arctic and back, and the scent of blooming flowers pressed against her face like a velvet glove.

Liesa knew the maze was playing with her. She could feel the push and pull of the environment, the way it targeted her particular weaknesses. Every time she lingered in one spot too long, a ribbon of pollen would spiral down and brush her bare shoulder. Every time she hesitated, the grass would turn slick under her feet, forcing her to grab for the nearest branch. Each accidental touch sent a shock of sensation to her core, an erotic charge that left her weak-kneed and trembling.

She tried to steady herself by focusing on the task: find the others, stay alive, do not be the first to be eliminated. That was all. She could do that, she’d done it before. But as she staggered through the maze, the intensity of the arousal grew until it was all she could do not to moan out loud. She bit her lip, hard, and kept moving.

At the next intersection, she saw a trail of tiny, glimmering dots—something that looked almost like breadcrumbs made of light. She bent closer and realized they were droplets of sweat, so fresh they still caught the blue glow of the blossoms. Someone was close.

Liesa followed the trail, one hand on the hedge for balance, the other pressed to her stomach to keep herself from shaking apart. Every few meters, she had to stop and catch her breath. She felt herself blushing, not just in her face but everywhere, her skin so hot it almost burned.