A Breath Unsnapped

The shuddering clang had been the last sound of concerted effort, the final, desperate lurch of the rusted cargo lift seizing inches above the ground floor. Lynn had hit the concrete hard, rolling, the impact jarring her teeth. She scrambled upright, her breath burning in her lungs, her eyes scanning the vast, echoing chamber. "Silvan?"

A low groan answered her, a sound swallowed quickly by the cavernous space. He lay sprawled by the lift's half-open door, one arm splayed out, the other clutching his side. A dark stain bloomed rapidly across his worn tunic, saturating the coarse fabric. He was not moving with his usual, deliberate grace.

Lynn dropped to her knees beside him, the metallic tang of drying blood already sharp in her nostrils. "Silvan, what happened? Are you—"

His eyes, usually keen and sharp even behind the thick spectacles, were dulling, glazed over with a film of pain. A weak cough rattled in his chest, spattering a fine mist of blood onto the dust-coated concrete. "The cable… it snapped. My… my leg caught it."

No, not his leg. His side. The sheer force of the lift's descent must have impaled him on something inside the shaft as it tore free. Lynn's hands trembled as she reached for his wound, but he weakly pushed her away.

"No… don't. It's too deep. Too… much." His voice was a thin rasp, each word a monumental effort. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then forced them open again, fixing them on her. "You… you must go on. The data… they cannot… get it."

"What are you talking about?" she pleaded, her own voice cracking. The reality of it was hitting her like a physical blow, a cold dread seeping into her bones. Silvan, who had always been the steadfast rock, the quiet keeper of ancient knowledge, was fading.

He struggled for another breath, a gurgling sound that made her stomach clench. "Beneath… the lining. Of my boot. The left one."

His hand, gnarled and surprisingly strong, reached out, gripping her arm with surprising force. A flicker of something — urgency, regret, affection — passed through his eyes. And then. He died.

The grip loosened, his hand falling heavy against the gritty floor. His gaze remained fixed on some distant point beyond her, his mouth slightly ajar. The last breath, a shallow wheeze, hung in the air for a moment, then vanished.

Lynn stared, unmoving, the hum of the facility’s failing systems suddenly deafening in her ears. Her world, for a long, terrible moment, narrowed to the still form beside her, the expanding crimson on his chest, the dull light catching the unseeing gleam in his eyes. A profound, aching emptiness opened within her, cold and absolute.

Iron and Ash

She didn't know how long she knelt there. Time dissolved, replaced by the crushing weight of silence and the chilling finality of his departure. The metallic scent of blood was no longer just in her nostrils; it felt like it was on her tongue. Her fingers, still trembling, found their way to the left boot he'd indicated. It was old, scuffed, and worn thin in places. With a surge of desperate energy, she fumbled with the laces, pulling the boot free.

Beneath the thin, leather lining, barely visible, was a small, flat compartment. Her nail caught the edge, and it hinged open, revealing a slim, metallic slate, no bigger than her thumb. It felt cool and smooth against her skin. The data. Whatever it was, it was critical enough to cost Silvan his life. And now, it was her burden.

A distant, muffled thud echoed through the chamber, followed by another, closer this time. Boots on concrete. They were coming. They hadn't given up the chase. The thought sliced through her grief like a shard of ice, galvanising her. Silvan hadn't died so she could mourn; he had died so she could continue.

She slipped the data slate into a hidden pouch inside her own jacket, the small weight a stark reminder of her new responsibility. A quick glance around revealed no obvious exit from this gargantuan space, only more defunct machinery and shadowed passages leading deeper into the facility's decaying heart.

The thuds became more distinct, accompanied by the faint, rhythmic whir of a patrol drone. No time for goodbyes. No time for ceremony. Lynn took one last look at Silvan, her vision blurring, and forced herself to stand. Her gaze landed on a narrow gap between two enormous, rust-eaten tanks, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. It looked like a path to nowhere, or worse, a trap. But inaction meant capture.

With a shuddering breath, she squeezed through the gap, her shoulder scraping against the rough, cold metal. The air on the other side was heavier, thick with the smell of stagnant water and something metallic, like ancient rust flaking into oblivion. She was in a service tunnel, darker and narrower than anything she'd traversed yet. The path ahead was a maze of twisted pipes and decaying catwalks, barely illuminated by the faint glow strips embedded in the ceiling, some flickering, others dead.

She heard a metallic click and a muffled voice from the chamber she’d just left. They were inside. They would find Silvan's body. They would know she had been there. The pressure was immense, a cold hand tightening around her throat.

Her hand instinctively went to the data slate in her pocket, its small, smooth surface a cold comfort. You must go on. Silvan's last words, a ghost in her ear. She had to believe this impossible, choked passage led somewhere, anywhere, but back into their clutches. The flickering lights ahead seemed to beckon, or perhaps merely to mock her desperate hope.