"Finally...made...it..." Cyrus huffed under his breath, wiping off the beads of sweat building under his brow as he finally stepped onto the bottom floor. He could feel his fastening heartbeat, the relief of finally reaching the roughened rock of the bottom floor sending it into a frenzy. He couldn't believe he made it.

When he took the first steps down, he was expecting something else, something more. He had been staring down into a realm full of unknowns—the pitless mouth of a beast dwelling in the ocean's abyss, and though the possibilities raised alarms at the time, a quiet piece of his heart had snickered, ready to throw everything to Hell. Was there any point in turning back, pushing off the inevitable? If there was no real escape from the hellhole, he reasoned that death was a far more suitable option.

His slow descent was accompanied by gruesome images of his possible demise: A thin, boneless demon slinking across the floor of the chamber, grabbing at his leg with its thick claws, a doorway or secret passage leading to a hidden room, a room filled with treasures and unbidden guests, or a cannibal with sunken cheeks lurking in the bottomless chamber, a man stuck in the same wretched position he was in. The possibilities were endless, and Cyrus was learning just how ugly the word "endless" really was.

While walking down the iced staircase, his shaky steps only fueled the horror that climbed up his stomach, threatening to spill over like bubbling tea from a pot and lead him off the unguarded steps, tumbling through the darkened chamber with no semblance of an end. He took several breaks for that exact reason, standing still on the steps and greedily filling his lungs with frigid air to freeze his worries in place. The occasional stops were terrifying, of course—he tried his best not to take a peek down at the pitch dark cave, but his curiosity would overtake his senses and would, without fail, cause his stomach to drop.

Curiosity always killed the cat, satisfaction be damned.

Unlike the top floor of the cave filled with vibrant, mirror-like crystals and pastel greens, the bottom floor was lifeless. Cyrus's eyes strained in the dark, searching for the walls and a possible exit. If there was a staircase leading to this abyss, there had to be something hidden down here, right? He reached for the walls, lightly touching against the grooves and ridges in the rock formation. Dragging his fingers across, he prayed for an opening—anything that could possibly lead him out of the main chamber.

After what felt like hours of feeling up the walls like an absolute dunce, Cyrus trudged back to the staircase, sitting on the bottom step and hissing at the ice that burned his skin. "There has to be something here," He thought, looking off into the dark once more and listening to the absolute nothingness around him. "For there to be a literal staircase that leads to absolutely nothing? There's no way."

As he waited in the darkness, his feet grew numb. The awful sensation of tiny bugs swarming his feet caused him to grip the loose fabric of his pants. He gritted his teeth, holding his feet still as the critters slowly trailed up his legs, curses pressed against the tip of his tongue. He was at a dead end. There were no easy ways out of this situation, and that fact was becoming more painfully true with every failed possibility, along with the fact that he was most definitely on borrowed time. Good ol' Lady Luck was counting down the seconds, rolling her eyes while she lazily held onto his collar and dangled him over a pit of fire.

What absolute shit luck.

Trapped under the overwhelming weight of the obscurity hanging in the air and only the silence to comfort him, he found himself moving to lay across the iced step, tucking a clothed arm to cushion his head. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" He huffed, sweeping his damp, crimson locks to the side to evade the cold sweat spreading across his neck and cheeks.

For the first time in his life, he was alone—there were no yells from Miss Reyes or his mother, no lingering scents in the air from Mister Okoye's teas, and no sight of Logan. Cyrus nearly laughed, wondering if this was someone from above finally answering his prayers for some peace and quiet. He tossed his left arm over the edge of the step and shut his eyes off from the cold air.

The silence, he soon realized, was somewhat intoxicating. It seeped into his skin and caused his limbs to grow lax. His mind was drifting, trying to forget the ice flowing through his veins and freezing his blood in its place. It was like a silent resignation to the hand dealt, he noticed, as he felt the need to sleep override his senses, a feeling of lightness wrapping around his form. For a moment, he could've sworn he heard Jimena's distant yells, seeping into the fabric of his thoughts like messy ink. And for a moment, he felt like he could start crying.

He missed her. Wanted to see her again. Wanted to see everyone, wanted to return to the comfortable, dimly lit scene and laze in the loveseats. He tried to forget, forget his shitty situation and death's cold breath, imagining the warmth of the glass-encased candles, the bright flames dancing in the darkness. It took a few moments, but he could feel it: the radiance of the room, the intermingling smells of rust and Earl Grey tea, and the distant but familiar laughter.

His sleep-induced brain couldn't recognize the light footsteps headed towards him, echoing off the walls of the cave. They were barely discernable, so soft that they didn't even tickle his mind.

"Cyrus, you can't sleep, love," he heard Jimena whisper into his ears, warm breath tickling his brown skin. He shifted in response, turning onto his side.

"Leave me alone, Miss Reyes," he mumbled, "I just want to rest for a while."

"Miss Reyes?" Jimena questioned, "who's that?"

And it was that statement that flooded his senses with water, drowning the warm scene and the noises in it, causing his eyes to finally open and return; return to his reality and stare into the eyes of another, a figure looming over his resting form.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Jimena, are you alright?" Idris's voice called over the sounds of sharpening metal, a concerned look twisting his handsome features.

"..."

With quick movements, he reached for the switch in the back, watching as the sharpening wheel slowed to a complete stop. Laying the steel part on the nearby table, he got up from his seat and approached his partner with light steps. The world slowed in those moments as he noticed the dejected expression marring her features. If he really focused, he could hear the sniffles building in her nose and the hitches in her breath. She looked like a child once more, his eyes softening at the sight of her slightly trembling hands and wide, teary eyes. "Jimena, love," he started, his usually loud voice quiet and careful. He waited a few moments, watching her body language and debating whether he should approach her. Does she want to be touched, or does she want to be alone? He couldn't tell, so he decided to wait at a comfortable distance, watch as the candle flames danced along with her hair and eyes, causing her reddened tear ducts to glow.

It felt like centuries had passed before she finally let him in, shifting slightly on the couch to give him room to sit. He refused to rush, though, walking over to her slowly and staring at her with every step. It was a silent conversation between their two hearts, a slight tug and pull motion that caused his heart to sway. He sat beside her, slowly pulling her thick legs over his own and basking in her warmth. He could feel her body relax, curling in to rest against his form, her forehead pressed against his chest in an intimate, familiar way.

"Idris," she eventually said, breaking their silent embrace, her voice low and slightly shaky, "t-they, I-I don't-"

She couldn't form her sentences, and he could only watch on helplessly as the woman started crying, tears silently streaming down her face and wetting her cheeks. He stroked her back affectionately, letting those raw emotions coat her senses like a thick blanket, defending her against the loud thoughts drowning her mind. The raucous laughter and loud voices piercing the glass front and slipping past the entrance doors felt so distant, falling to the back of his thoughts as he wrapped his arms loosely around her petite frame, holding her from sinking further down. Her sobs dug knives into his heart, but he stayed still, choosing to bask in silence until she felt comfortable enough to break it once more.

Jimena dug her face into his chest, her sobs eventually slowing and coming to a lull, breath evening out as her eyes finally shut. He shifted slightly and wrapped his arms under her legs and the small of her back. Moving so she could rest comfortably in his lap, he let her continue to rest her cheek on his chest. Her long, brown locks were sticking to her wet cheeks, so he tucked them behind her ear to the best of his ability, softly thumbing at the tear tracks with a saddened smile. He gazed down at the note clenched in her hand, the red paper falling as she finally let it go. There was no need to read it, he realized, the familiar emblem emblazoned over the top of the note telling him just enough.

It was a warning, a promise of what was to come: the world that will grow dark and uninhabited, a city that will soon be saturated with the ghosts of forgotten corpses. The game of survival was what they were all playing, knowingly or unknowingly, and they had finally reached the summit.

He stared down at Jimena's peaceful face, her long lashes wet from her teary episode. She had such an emotional soul, taking on more than she could bear and looking into the future with a gaze that wanted to know more. He could get lost in those eyes of hers for days, watching them swirl with the fears, ambitions, dreams, and worries of thousands. They would kill her, he was absolutely sure of it, but he also knew that she would want it no other way.

"It'll be alright, love, it'll be alright." He mumbled, letting her drift into another night of dreamless sleep, crackling fires and obnoxious voices fading into nothingness.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Are you sure you're alright, sir?"

Cyrus stared back up at the form blankly. "I'm fine," he managed to let out quietly, staring back down at the floor in disbelief.

"Are you sure-"

"Yes."

The ghostly figure nervously chuckled, looking off to the side as if she were trying to recollect her thoughts. With noiseless steps, she walked off to the side. Cyrus saw her form awkwardly standing a few paces away, her mouth opening and quickly closing, struggling to find the right words to fill the growing silence. He was thankful for that, though, taking the time to breathe and reorganize his own thoughts. A quiet part of Cyrus's mind assumed the worst when the woman's ghostly figure first loomed over him, sheer horror and a torrent of what-ifs storming inside. With a quick glance at his pristine condition and the sight of his perfectly functioning limbs, he felt his heart slow to a quiet lull. "She didn't exactly do anything," he thought, peeking back at the woman's awkward form and her petite stature, "and it doesn't really look like she could anyways."

"What's your name?" He eventually asked, noticing the flinch in her hazy form.

"Oh, it's Jessica, nice to meet you, um, I'm really sorry about the-"

"It's honestly fine. I don't think you meant any real harm," Cyrus cut in, turning back at her with a slight smile, "You just scared me shitless with how you just appeared, ya know? Maybe a better heads up next time?"

She shifted awkwardly, looking down at her feet. "I'll try my best to not scare you next time, sir."

"Cut the 'sir' shit out; there's honestly no need for it."

"I'm just following protocol, sir."

"Protocol? On whose terms?"

"The higher-ups—my superiors, sir," She responded, looking back up at him with a blank gaze. Her hazy form flickered, the illusion disappearing and reappearing right before Cyrus' eyes. He looked back at her in disbelief, a look which she returned with a mumbled curse. She stared back at him, hardening her gaze, the nervous woman from just moments ago disappearing in an instant. "Do you mind if we push any possible questions that you have until the end, sir? We're running out of time."

Cyrus opened his mouth at that but quickly closed it, internalizing her words and changed expressions. He had questions, an insurmountable amount of them, at that, but the woman's pleading gaze kept him quiet. Something told him that asking questions would only lead him down the rabbit hole. He couldn't afford to lose this woman. "Of course."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best to answer any questions after, but for now, I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you," she emphasized, slowly leaning down and settling her gaze on his.

"Yes," he breathed out, alarmed with just how close she had gotten, her face just inches from his own. Were she a person and not an apparition, the onslaught of cold breath from her heavy words would have dusted his face with ice.

"Good," she sighed, smiling as she gazed warmly into his eyes. Caught in her hypnotic glance, he completely missed the shift in her pupils, her attention moving right past his head. The tightening of her jaw, however, he did not. He looked at her in confusion, waving a slow hand in front of her eyes to no avail. She didn't flinch or blink, her eyes narrowing slightly, a pink hue spreading over her face.

"Jessica?"

Her eyes softened as she looked back down, her tensed body instantly relaxing. Another face, another mood; Cyrus was off-put by the uncanny change in expression. She turned her emotions on and off like a switch, shifting through her attitudes with flawless motion.

"Would you like to hear a story, sir?" She asked, and Cyrus, in a fit of confusion and curiosity, couldn't help but say yes.