The Stanchion Snapped

The most frightening part was not the pain. It was how quickly the Maru seemed willing to turn a loose piece of metal into a reason for me to disappear. One moment my hand was on the stanchion; the next, I was hitting the rail and my hip was claiming every breath I took.

I wanted to hide the bruising. Not because it looked bad—because admitting it gave the danger a body. A bruise can be shown. Fear can be edited away. On camera, I was still supposed to be the fearless treasure hunter who found the trap before it found her, except the pronoun felt ridiculous and very distant. I kept filming anyway. Sometimes courage is just refusing to stop holding the camera after your body tells you to run.

The sabotaged release cable made me angrier than the fall did. It was such a cheap, ugly trick, the kind of plan that depends on everyone else being polite enough not to examine what they are given. I almost wished for a respectable villain. A lock, a wall, a locked vault—anything I could get my hands around. Instead there was resin pretending to be copper and a handrail waiting for my weight.

I chose the public walkthrough. That choice made me proud and sick with the knowledge that pride is often just fear wearing a cleaner shirt. Baek will know exactly where to look now. My family would hear about this and start calculating the distance between my stubbornness and disaster. They would not understand that I need the Maru exposed, even if exposure is the only inheritance I am allowed to claim for now.