POV: Jane
I can finally breathe. And I can't.
My breath fogs in front of me in quick white puffs.
"Is it... is it just us down here?" My voice shakes and echoes too loud.
Ryan's voice is low, right behind me in the small space, steady as ever. "Just us. And four inches of reinforced steel."
The bunker is a six-by-six box. Cold concrete walls sweating damp, rusted locker, metal bench bolted to the floor, old bunks folded flat. The air smells like damp earth and cold iron and old oil. The red light makes everything look wet and too close.
My teeth start to click. I can't stop it.
I rub my bare arms. My gala dress is torn to my thighs, silk caked in mud, and now that the adrenaline is bleeding out it feels like wet ice against my skin. The mud on my legs has gone from warm to freezing.
