The rail shuttle's interior groaned like a dying beast.
Flickering emergency lights painted the metal walls in crimson and shadow, each pulse of red like a heartbeat bleeding out. Beneath Zara's boots, the metal hummed with residual energy—barely enough to keep the rickety transport moving. The tunnel outside the thick windows was pitch black, the kind of black that swallowed light, sound, and hope whole.
Leo's breath came in ragged sobs against her shoulder. Zara held him tight, cradling him with one arm, the other gripping a corroded rail for balance. His small fingers clutched her shirt, the fabric damp with his sweat—and hers. Her heart thundered in her ears.
"We're okay," she whispered, though her voice trembled. "You're okay. I've got you."
