Alone stirred first, blinking beneath her goggles as the dim light filtered through the cracked ceiling. The room smelled of damp wood and something sour — the kind of smell that always made her stomach tighten.

Her eyes immediately found Low, curled on the floor, cape wrinkled and bow lying uselessly by his side.

She stepped closer, boots muffled against the mossy floor, and nudged his shoulder gently with the tip of her wrench. “Hey,” she murmured.

No movement. She nudged again, firmer this time, tapping his mask. “Hey...” she whispered, tilting her head to glance at the shadowy corner of the room. Mushrooms leaned toward the light like they were watching too.