LEAH POV
The elevator leans to one side and doesn't correct itself.
That's how I know we're in real trouble.
It tilts just enough to throw off my balance, my shoulder slamming into the wall—metal cold against my skin. My stomach lurches, the sensation like missing a step on a staircase that never ends.
"Damian—"
"I've got you."
His grip is immediate. Strong. Certain. One arm wraps around my waist, anchoring me to him like gravity follows his orders. The darkness feels heavier now—thicker—pressing in on us, testing how much space two people can share before panic takes over.
"Don't let go," I whisper.
"I won't."
I believe him without questioning why.
The elevator releases another low creak, the vibration running through my bones.
"This thing is slanted," I say.
"Yes."
"That's bad, right?"
"It's not ideal."
"Damian."
"It's bad," he admits.
I swallow, my fingers tightening in his jacket. I rest my forehead against his chest because it's the only solid thing I trust right now. His heartbeat remains steady. Controlled.
It shouldn't comfort me as much as it does.
"You don't sound scared," I whisper.
"I am."
I pull back slightly, startled. "You are?"
"Yes."
"But you're not… shaking. Or panicking."
He exhales slowly. "Fear doesn't always sound loud."
That hits something deep.
"I think I'd prefer loud fear," I admit.
He lets out a quiet breath—almost a laugh. The elevator creaks again. Louder. Longer.
I flinch.
He shifts, placing himself slightly in front of me now, his body angled like he's shielding me from the machine itself.
"You're doing that thing," I say quietly.
"What thing?"
"Putting yourself between me and the danger."
Silence settles.
"I don't like unnecessary risk," he says finally.
"And I'm unnecessary?"
"No," he says immediately. "You're not."
The words land heavy in the dark. My chest tightens, and not from fear this time.
"Damian," I say softly, "what do you do?"
He takes a moment. "I already told you. I work here."
"That's not what I meant."
Another creak cuts through the moment. I sense him weighing something—measuring truth against instinct.
"I make decisions," he says finally. "That affect a lot of people."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is."
The elevator shakes violently, forcing us closer. My hands press against his chest without thinking.
Warmth. Awareness.
I freeze, suddenly aware of how close we are—his breath brushing my temple, how easily this could become dangerous in a different way.
He freezes too.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, pulling my hands back.
"Don't be," he says quietly. "You didn't do anything wrong."
The way he says it makes my throat ache.
"Can I ask you something personal?" I ask.
"You already have."
"Then one more."
He nods.
"Why do you act like nothing scares you?"
He doesn't answer right away.
"When fear stops being useful," he says slowly, "you stop listening to it."
"That sounds like something you learned the hard way."
"Yes."
The word is sharp. Final.
The elevator jumps again—harder this time—and metal crashes above us.
I gasp. "What was that?"
His body goes rigid. "That," he says, "wasn't good."
DAMIAN POV
You can hear it.
Metal colliding. A weak point finally giving way. The elevator wasn't built to hold this angle for long.
"Listen to me," I say calmly, even as my heart begins to race. "If it shifts again, I need you to stay exactly where I put you."
Her fingers tighten in my sleeve. "What does that mean?"
"It means trust me."
She hesitates. Then—"Okay."
The word lands heavier than any promise.
I guide her carefully, lowering us both—backs against the wall, knees bent to absorb impact if it comes. Her breathing grows shallow again.
"Hey," I say softly. "Look at me."
"I can't see you."
"Still," I say. "Pretend."
She tilts her face toward my voice.
"Breathe with me," I instruct. "Slow."
She follows. Again.
Her composure amazes me. Fear is there—but so is strength.
"You're good at this," I tell her.
"At what?"
"Not breaking."
She swallows. "I don't feel strong."
"Most strong people don't."
The elevator creaks again.
Then something changes.
A low vibration pulses through the floor—steady, rhythmic.
I go still. So does she.
"Damian," she whispers, "what is that?"
I listen carefully.
Footsteps. Above us. Real ones.
"Maintenance," I say. "Or emergency responders."
She exhales sharply. "That's… that's good, right?"
"It's a start."
She lets out a shaky laugh and briefly buries her face in my chest. I don't stop her.
"Don't leave," she says quietly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The footsteps fade. The vibration dies.
Silence crashes back in.
Her head lifts slowly. "They're gone."
"Yes."
Her voice cracks. "Why would they leave?"
I don't soften it. "They might not know we're here."
Her grip tightens painfully.
"Okay," she says quickly. "Okay. That's fine. We just—just need to wait longer."
Another metallic snap echoes above us.
The elevator drops sharply—farther this time.
Leah screams.
I brace, pulling her hard against me, locking my arm around her shoulders and taking the worst of the impact as we slam down and stop violently.
The emergency light flickers back on—barely glowing—revealing dust drifting through the air.
The elevator is angled more steeply now.
"This is getting worse," she whispers.
"Yes."
"How honest are you going to be with me right now?"
I meet her eyes in the dim red glow. "Completely."
Her throat works. "Are we in danger?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
For the first time since this began, I pause to think.
"If the cable fails," I say quietly, "this elevator won't stop."
The words hang between us. Heavy. Final.
Fear flashes raw across her face.
Then, softly, "Then don't let it fail."
Some things are already beyond my control—but I don't say that.
Instead, I cup her face gently, grounding her—and myself.
"I'm still here," I say. "And I'm not done fighting."
The elevator creaks again.
This time, the sound comes from below us.