Chapter 9 - The Sacrifice

Sisyphus didn't walk toward the scream. He ran.

Ten thousand years of measured patience, of calculating each step, of testing weight - all of it abandoned in an instant. His feet found purchase on stone that should have been slick. His hands caught edges that shouldn't exist. Every trap he'd modified, every passage he'd mapped, every rhythm he'd learned - all of it became instinct.

The floor tilted beneath a trigger stone. He was already past it, weight shifted before the mechanism could engage.

Blades swept through a corridor in their seven-second, three-second pattern. He moved through the gaps without counting, body remembering what his mind had cataloged.

A wall began closing on a pressure plate. He slid through sideways, stone scraping his shoulders, emerging as it sealed behind him.

The scream came again. Closer now. To the right and down.