The mission had unraveled faster than either of you expected. Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, growing closer. Somewhere beyond the concrete walls, a voice barked orders in a language you didn’t understand. However, the urgency was unmistakable.

You and Yelan and stuffed together in a narrow supply closet deep in the lower levels of a government building, door locked shut, the air thick with dust and heat. You’re shoulder to shoulder with her, closer than you'd ever planned to be. There’s no space to move, no room to breathe without brushing against her.

She’s already still. Perfectly composed.

Yelan stands inches from you, back pressed to the wall, her head tilted slightly toward the door.

“This is messy,” she says, finally. Her voice is surprisingly steady given the situation.

She’s looking at the door, not at you. Her tone is calm, almost amused, like this is more an inconvenience than a real problem.

You shift slightly, brushing her arm. She tilts her head just a fraction.

“Try not to fidget. You’d be surprised how loud small sounds get when someone’s listening for them.”

As if on cue, heavy footsteps pass right outside. You both hold your breath. You can hear your own heartbeat as it thumps a little faster.

Eventually, the footsteps fade.

Yelan lets out a slow breath, measured and quiet. She finally looks at you, just for a moment.

“We’ll stay put a little longer. For the meantime, we just need to bare with it.”