The tunnel narrowed, pressing close with every step.
Ada walked slightly ahead, but her steps had slowed—not because of a threat, but something quieter, less urgent, and harder to ignore.
The kind of quiet that makes you listen to your own heartbeat and wonder if someone else hears it too.
Behind her, Vega's presence was steady.
Close. Not breathing down her neck, but close enough that the warmth of her body felt like a current.
Neither spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward—it held something fragile between them, like the echo of something yet unsaid.
They reached a corridor junction. Ada stopped, letting her hand rest against the wall.
The metal was cool, grounding.
Vega came up beside her. "We've got two options. Left looks like collapsed storage. Right… smells less dead."
Ada exhaled softly. "So right it is."
Vega tilted her head. "Unless you need to sit. You're limping again."
"I'm fine."
Vega didn't move. Her voice lowered. "You always say that."
Ada didn't answer. For a moment, they just stood in the dim, pulsing glow of a flickering overhead strip.
Finally, Ada looked over. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. "I don't know how to do this. Whatever this is."
Vega's brows drew together, but her tone stayed even. "This as in… talking? Or this as in us?"
Ada hesitated. "Both."
Vega leaned a shoulder to the wall. "That's fair."
She turned her head toward Ada, expression unreadable. "You know what I like about you?"
"I'm scared to ask."
"You never pretend. You're brutal, and direct, and sometimes I want to strangle you—but at least I know it's real."
Ada looked away. "That's not exactly romantic."
"I didn't say I wasn't into it."
That got a small, genuine laugh out of Ada—low, startled.
It echoed in the corridor, softer than the sound of gunfire, but sharper in some other way.
Vega stepped closer.
Not threatening, not aggressive. Just... close.
"You saved me back there. Again."
Ada's gaze flicked up. "So did you."
"Yeah, but you didn't hesitate. You always put yourself in front."
"I can't help it."
"I know." Vega's voice had dropped to a near whisper. "And I don't want you to stop."
Ada's throat worked. Her mouth opened—then shut.
Vega tilted her head, eyes narrowed. "You're thinking too hard."
"Occupational hazard."
A pause. Then, Vega stepped into her space, slow enough that Ada could have stepped back—but she didn't.
Vega reached up, fingers ghosting the side of Ada's face. She didn't touch her, not really. Just close enough to feel the warmth, the tremble.
Their eyes met.
And just as the moment stretched—
Ada's system flared.
[LIFE SIGNAL DETECTED: INFANT. CONDITION: CRITICAL. LOCATION: BASE LEVEL CANTEEN.]
Vega pulled back an inch. "That can't be right."
Ada's face sharpened. "How the hell is there a baby alive down here?"
Vega's voice steadied, but her eyes still flickered with emotion. "We find out. Now."
Ada nodded, all tension redirected into motion.
But as they turned, as they moved again—something lingered in the air. Not left behind. Just… paused.
Like breath held. Like something waiting to finish what had almost begun.