Darkness presses in from all sides, and her chest tightens until each breath feels like work. She keeps her hands clenched at her sides, just to keep them from shaking apart.
She has to remind herself to breathe. It takes all of her focus. In through her nose. Out. Again.
Something skitters behind her. Her knees dip before she can stop them.
“Don’t,” she tells herself, and it comes out more like a warning than a command.
Fingers catch her sleeve. Breath—hot and damp—touches the back of her neck. Pain flares across the backs of her legs, quick and bright, and a sound slips out of her that she doesn’t recognize as her own.
Her eyes burn. She blinks hard, but it doesn’t help.
The stone walls feel closer now. Not moving. Just waiting. Like they’ve seen this part before.
“Y-you said you were with me,” she says into the dark. It isn’t a cry. It’s smaller than that. “I can’t… I can’t do this by myself.”
Her foot lands wrong. The ground tilts, her ankle twists, and she goes down hard. Pain sparks across her palms as she catches herself. She whimpers.
“Dammit,” she breathes.
Skittering legs climb over her calves, her knees, her shaking arms. She tries to brush them away, but her movements are slow, clumsy—like her body is running out of messages to send.
“No, no, no,” she whispers. Her voice is thin. Her body shivers as panic crawls up her spine, cold and fast, keeping pace with the creatures.
Her breath comes in sharp, useless bursts. The dark feels too close. The ground feels too far away.
In through her nose. Out. Again.
Her breath doesn’t break in half this time.
“Get up,” she tells herself through her next steady exhale.
Her hands press into the stone. The ground is cold. Solid. Jagged. Rocks dig into her scraped palms.
“You said,” she whispers again, an angry hiss, “that you were with me.”
There’s no answer. No voice. No light.
She doesn’t know what she expected—something dramatic, maybe. Something to prove she wasn’t imagining things.
All she knows is that her hands don’t give out.
She gets one knee under herself. The creatures scatter just far enough to stay out of her way, close enough to remind her they’re still there.
Her arms shake. She almost goes back down.
Almost.
She stays.
Her chest still hurts. Fear still hums in her bones. But her body remembers how to hold itself up, like something inside her is quietly pushing.
Up.
She gets her feet under her. Stands there, swaying.
Not safe. Not steady. A little dizzy.
But standing.
She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“Okay,” she whispers.
One part victory. Two parts agreement.
Then she takes another step.
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