We kept on descending, and I saw people at the entrance trying to seal it off.
It was clear they were trying to keep something dangerous from getting in.
Soon, there was nothing left — no amber light, no dusty horizon. Just darkness pressing in from every side.
James moved easily. His hand brushed the wall at every turn without thinking, fingers tracing the cracks and bumps like a blind man reading a familiar face.
I followed quietly, too busy taking it all in to speak.
The stairwell opened suddenly.
I stopped.
Not because something was in the way — because my brain needed a moment to believe what my eyes were seeing.
The tunnel didn't just keep going underground. It had changed into something else entirely.
What used to be a subway corridor had been widened over years — maybe decades by human hands.
