The Fall
Natasha didn't remember deciding to run.
One moment she was standing frozen in her room, heart pounding, Nradrey's voice still echoing in her skull like a curse that refused to fade—and the next, she was yanking the door open and bolting into the hallway barefoot, breath sharp and uneven.
Alvin.
That was the only clear thought she had.
The base was quiet in the deep hours of the night, lights dimmed to emergency-low, corridors washed in muted red and amber. Everyone should have been asleep. Everyone needed to be asleep.
Natasha took the stairs two at a time.
"Alvin—" she whispered, voice trembling.
Her foot caught.
It was stupid. Small. A misstep born of panic and exhaustion. The edge of the stair clipped her heel, and suddenly the world tilted violently.
"Oh—!"
She fell.
