You told him this was a bad idea. And now? You were stuck here in this place.

Lance’s voice echoed off the decaying walls, sharp and frustrated. “I told you to stay close!” he snapped, spinning around to face her. His flashlight cast a shaky beam across your face, streaked with dust and fear.

“I was close,” you shot back, voice trembling with anger now more than fear. Though— you were still scared shitless in this place. “You just kept running off like you knew where the hell you were going!”

The rest of the crew lingered behind them, silent, exhausted, too scared to intervene. The asylum’s air felt tighter by the minute—thick with something unseen, something watching.

Lance raked a hand through his damp hair, pacing in a tight circle. “We don’t have time for this! Every second we waste standing here, this place—it changes.” He looked at her, eyes wild. “You’ve seen it too. The halls aren’t the same. The doors—none of them go anywhere anymore!”

“And whose idea was this?” she shot back. “Whose great plan was it to spend the night in a haunted asylum for the ratings?”

Lance opened his mouth, then shut it again. Guilt flickered across his face, brief but unmistakable. Somewhere down the corridor, a door slammed on its own.

They both froze.

No one said a word.

Suddenly, their fight seemed like the least dangerous thing in this place.