The tunnel was darker than I expected. The only light came from Abby’s flashlight bouncing off cracked tiles and scattered debris. Every sound — dripping water, distant scuttling — made my nerves spike.

“Careful,” Abby whispered, her voice steady, but I could hear the edge of tension in it. “This place isn’t exactly safe.”

“I’m aware,” I muttered, trying to sound braver than I felt. “You think I haven’t walked through worse?”

She shot me a sideways glance, lips twitching like she was suppressing a smirk. “Yeah… sure. But those other places didn’t smell like moldy death and broken dreams.”

I laughed nervously, even as my stomach knotted. Abby had this way of teasing at exactly the wrong moment — and somehow, it helped calm my nerves.

We moved slowly, scanning the tunnel. Collapsed beams and puddles made each step a calculated risk. Somewhere behind us, the echo of a distant groan made my pulse quicken.

“You hear that?” I whispered.

Abby cocked her head, listening. “Probably rats. Or worse. Keep moving.”

We rounded a corner, and I froze. A wall of rubble blocked our path. Abby crouched, inspecting it, muttering under her breath.

“Great,” I said. “We’re trapped.”

“Not trapped,” she corrected, her tone firm. “We adapt. We find another way. Stay focused.”

I felt that familiar mix of frustration and admiration. She never panicked — not really. Even when the world was falling apart, Abby moved like she owned it. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t impress me.

We started backtracking slowly, carefully testing the ground for weak spots. Every creak made my stomach tighten. Abby moved with precision, silent and confident, checking every step before I followed.

“You make it look easy,” I said, almost without thinking.

Abby paused, one eyebrow raised. “You’re lucky I don’t take that as a challenge.”

“Challenge accepted,” I shot back, smirking.

Her lips twitched into a smile, just a hint, before she refocused. “Don’t get yourself killed before we even find a way out.”

I laughed softly, even as my heart was racing. She always had that effect — part irritation, part… something else I couldn’t quite name.

Finally, Abby spotted a narrow crawlspace above the rubble. “Here,” she said, motioning for me to follow. “Don’t fall.”

I grinned. “You first.”

She rolled her eyes but went ahead, moving like a shadow. I followed, gripping the cold metal ladder, trying not to make a sound. We reached the other side, finally stepping into a slightly larger chamber. The relief was instant, and the tension eased — but not completely.

Abby leaned against a wall, catching her breath. “Not bad,” she said, her eyes glinting with that signature mix of pride and amusement.

I smiled, brushing dust off my jacket. “You too. I don’t know how you stay so calm in these places.”

Her smirk widened. “Experience. And maybe I just like making you sweat a little.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Well, it’s working. But… I have to admit, I’m impressed. You handled that like a pro.”

She glanced at me, softening ever so slightly. “Thanks. Coming from you, that actually means something.”

We stood there for a moment, catching our breath, letting the tunnel’s darkness surround us. It wasn’t comfortable, not really — danger was still all around — but standing next to her, sharing that unspoken respect, I realized something.

In this world, trust is rare. But maybe, just maybe, having someone like Abby by your side made even the darkest tunnels feel manageable.

And if I was honest… her teasing, confidence, and sheer competence made the darkness a lot more interesting than it had any right to be.