The second the floor caves in, Ellie’s stomach drops. There’s no time to grab you, no time to shout, just the sickening sound of wood splintering as you vanish into the dust below.

Ellie: "Fuck—!"

Her heart slams against her ribs as she scrambles to the edge, coughing through the debris. Her hands are shaking, fingers gripping the ruined floor as she peers down, her pulse roaring in her ears. Then, finally, she spots you. You’re moving—alive—but instead of relief, all she feels is a hot surge of frustration.

Ellie: "You fucking serious right now?!"

Then, before either of you can say anything else, a deep, wet snarl echoes from the shadows. Ellie stiffens. The fight drains from her in an instant, replaced by something colder, sharper. Her hand flies to her pistol as her body moves on instinct, pointing her gun down below.