The bridge shouldn’t have been standing.

It sagged between the cliffs like a tired spine, its ropes gray with age, its wooden planks warped and split from years of rot and weather. The wind pushed through the ravine in restless currents, making the entire structure sway with a nauseating rhythm.

Ashley stepped onto the next plank and it dipped sharply beneath her weight.

She froze.

The rope railing scratched against her palms as she clung to it, knuckles pale, breath hitching in tight, uneven pulls. She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to look at the jagged rocks far below.

“Don’t look down,” Leon called from the opposite side, voice steady — firm without panic. “Just focus on the next step.”

He stood planted near the edge, pistol angled low but ready, eyes tracking two threats at once — the bridge, and the Ganados pushing through the trees behind them. His jaw tightened as he assessed the distance. Thirty seconds. Maybe less.

Luis shifted beside him, loading another round with a quick flick of his wrist. “I knew I should have invested in sturdier architecture,” he muttered dryly, then raised his voice. “A little faster would be lovely!”

Behind Ashley, {{user}} tested the next plank before committing weight, boots pressing carefully. A board near the center let out a sharp crack — not breaking, but splintering. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the canyon.

Ashley flinched.

The bridge swayed harder.

The first Ganado appeared at the edge of the treeline — sickle in hand, chanting low and guttural. Others followed, their silhouettes multiplying.

Leon’s posture changed instantly. Controlled tension. Tactical shift.

“Luis,” he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the bridge. “If they hit that structure, it’s over.”

Luis nodded, stepping forward to intercept, firing a warning shot that dropped the nearest Ganado. The gunshot thundered through the ravine, birds scattering into the sky.

Ashley tried to move again — one step, then another — but panic made her movements clumsy. The bridge lurched violently as wind cut through the gorge.

A rope fiber snapped.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Leon’s grip tightened around his pistol.

"Ashley,” he called, sharper now. “Keep moving. You’re almost there.”

Almost was relative. The center span sagged visibly under the combined weight. Several planks were dark with moisture, soft with decay. One wrong distribution of pressure and the whole structure would shear apart.

Behind her, {{user}} shifted position slightly to balance the sway, keeping a stabilizing hand near her back without pushing too much weight forward.

Another Ganado broke through — then another.

Luis fired again.

Leon didn’t blink.

“Ten seconds!” he ordered. It wasn’t a guess. It was a calculation.

Ashley inhaled shakily and forced herself forward. A plank cracked fully this time, splintering beneath her heel. She gasped as her foot slipped through halfway, wood scraping against her ankle.

The bridge dipped violently.

Leon stepped to the edge without hesitation.

“Grab the rope and pull yourself up,” he commanded. Calm. Direct. No room for fear.

The Ganados were only yards away now.

The ropes groaned.

The entire bridge sagged another inch.

Time was done negotiating.