She grasped the edges of the vent, pulled herself back into the shaft.
Her head clipped the metal roof—bright pain, sharp enough to steal her breath for a second. Her lungs constricted as darkness pressed in from all sides.
Stop it. You’ve done this already today. You can do it again.
Behind her, Wyatt boosted himself in. The vent groaned under his weight—bigger, heavier, his body taking up even more of the limited space.
“You good?” he asked.
“Fine.” Her voice came out steady. “North access is this way. Stay close.”
He chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She crawled forward. Hands and knees on cold metal. The beam from her flashlight bounced off rivets and seams, her breathing echoing back at her. Way too loud and fast.
Think about something else, Jen.The route. Three turns. Straight shot after that. Fifteen minutes if they headed steadily toward the exterior of the rig.
The metal groaned behind her under Wyatt’s weight. His weapon scraped against the walls as he shimmied his bulk in.
“Snug fit,” he muttered.
“Yeah.” She kept crawling.
One hand. One knee. Repeat.
The air was stale. Recycled. It tasted like dust and machine oil, thick enough to choke on.
Her heart was beating too fast.
The walls closed in.
Narrowing?
No. Same dimensions.
Just your brain lying to you.
Voices.
She froze.
Wyatt stilled behind her. Predator-silent.
The voices drifted up from below them. Two men. Maybe three.
Her tool belt dug into her hips. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe as the voices continued. Casual. Not searching. Just patrolling.
Wyatt’s hand closed lightly around her ankle.
The voices faded.
She nodded even though he couldn’t see it in the dark.Yes. I’m okay. Don’t make me talk right now because I might scream.
Wyatt’s hand squeezed once. Then released.
With a slow exhale, Jen started crawling again. The shaft branched left. She took it. Then, right at the next junction. The darkness was absolute, except for her flashlight. The beam shook in her hands.Stop.
She couldn’t.
