Sleep never really came. Not fully. It crouched at the edges of my mind like a wounded thing, too weak to take me under, too stubborn to let go. My body surrendered to exhaustion, but my mind—my mind still reeled, still clawed at the walls of itself, drowning in the filth of everything I'd done just to keep breathing.
The dreams were nothing but static. A humming, a vibration in the bones. Footsteps, distant, but getting closer. A whisper of movement. A shift in the dark.
Something fell.
A dull, metallic clang.
My eyes fluttered open, sleep shattering like glass beneath a hammer.
Boots.
Just a few feet away.
A sharp, instinctual fear sliced through the exhaustion, sending my body into full, silent alert. I didn't move, didn't breathe—just let my vision adjust, let my pulse slow so I could listen.
The tunnel's air was still thick, stale with rust and the aftertaste of old electricity, but now there was something else. A presence.
