The walls closed in tighter the farther we went.
Paint peeled back in long, curling strips. The floor dipped slightly under our weight, groaning beneath cracked tiles and long streaks of dried brown. Someone had dragged something heavy through here.
Blood, probably. Maybe a body. Maybe more than one. The ceiling above us sagged in sections, metal supports poking out like broken ribs.
A scream echoed ahead.
Sharp.
Human.
I raised my left hand, flat palm.
Yifei stopped immediately, almost slamming into me.
She caught herself with a sharp inhale and moved beside me instead. She didn't speak, but I could feel it — her body tense, shoulder brushing mine again like she couldn't help it.
Gunshots rang out next — two, maybe three — short bursts that bounced off the concrete walls like distant firecrackers. Muffled yelling followed. A woman's voice shouting something about pushing. Another voice, higher, more panicked, breaking into raw sound.
Still alive.
Still struggling.
