"I want to pry the door open on this stairwell, and each way we can let sand into this place lower than us," I begin.


"So would it help to bust lower floor windows as well?" Mia asks as soon as I finish my sentence.


"I haven't got a clue. It's worth every effort," I reply.


"Maybe we should go back down for a while and fill the lower levels first," she suggests.


"Yeah, hopefully, we don't lose the walls while doing this," I say.


"What even makes you think that?!" she exclaims.


"Think about it—if we let the sand in, the building might shift under the pressure. It’s buried now, but that could change once we start moving things around," I sigh. "With how far we fell, it's impossible to predict."


"So we're really just gambling on this, huh?" Mia mutters.


I nod. "Yeah. But at least people will know this place is here."


She exhales sharply. "Even if we don’t make it."


An impulse washes over me, and I pull her into a tight hug. She stiffens, her shoulders locking and her breath hitching. A moment passes before she exhales and slowly melts into the embrace. I can't bring myself to let go. For a brief moment, I find solace and sanctuary.


"You alright?" Mia asks softly.


"I think so. For some reason, you make my worry seem to vanish," I admit.


"I see." She takes a breath.


"Something up?" I ask.


"No, we should get back on the move." She gently pries herself from my grip and heads toward the stairwell.


Mia grips the railing as she leads us down. The air is thick with dust. I trail behind her, boots crunching on debris. Step after step, the dark swallows us. We go deeper—far deeper than before.


We reach an open floor plan, vast and eerily silent. The ceiling looms high above, with gnarled support beams casting long, jagged shadows in the dim light. Broken furniture and rusted metal pieces litter the cracked tile floor, half-buried in a fine layer of dust. The windows, grimy and fractured, reveal only darkness beyond. A gust of wind whistles through the shattered glass, carrying the scent of old decay. We exchange a glance, the weight of the space pressing in around us.


"So, shall we start down here?" Mia asks.


"Seems deep enough," I admit.


"Let’s start on the far wall and work our way back to the stairwell, then move up. Rinse and repeat," she instructs.


She picks up an old metal pole leaning against the wall. I sigh as I search for something to break the glass. Finding a large stone, I lift it. Mia swings at the nearest window while I hurl the rock at another. Cracks form in the glass. We hit them again.


A wave of sand barrels in, a violent, suffocating force that slams into us and sends us sprawling. The sheer weight of it threatens to crush the room, pressing against the walls with an ominous groan. The floor trembles beneath us, and for a split second, panic grips my chest. We stare at each other, wide-eyed—then, absurdly, we laugh. This plan might actually kill us before it saves us.


"Ready for the rest?" she asks with a nervous grin.


"As ready as I'll ever be."


"Well, we better get to work." She pulls herself up and pats the sand from her clothes.


I rush to my feet and prepare for the next window. Floor after floor, we smash glass, send sand pouring in, and move up again. The work is brutal, mind-numbing. My arms feel like dead weight, my legs barely able to lift me up the next set of stairs. Time stretches, warping into exhaustion.


"C'mon, Etha, this is our best chance," Mia urges.


I must’ve been lost in my thoughts. She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the next level. The sand isn’t filling the rooms completely, so this may not work the way I imagined.


"You're right," I say.


We reach the broken stairwell from earlier. Seeing it again is a relief—it means we’re making progress. I sprint to the far side of the floor. Mia does the same.


"Ready?" I ask.


"Yep. Let’s get through this floor as quickly as we can."


We swing and knock out our windows. The glass explodes, and a tidal surge of sand floods in, roaring like an avalanche and hammering against the walls with crushing weight. We climb another flight of stairs. It feels endless. Why did Ark Tech need a building this massive before the bombs dropped? Were there really that many people? I only end up with more questions.

As we press forward, a nagging feeling takes root in my gut.


"Something's wrong," I say as Mia lays her hand on the stairwell door. "This seems too easy, doesn’t it?"


"Well, I guess. It has been relatively safe in here," she admits.


A faint tremor runs through the walls. My stomach knots.


"Let’s just hope we make it to the surface," I say flatly.


We keep moving. Level after level. The stairwell fills with thick, dusty air. I start coughing, dizziness creeping in. Mia begins to wheeze.


"We didn't consider how much air we’d need to do this," she realizes.


"Uh, yeah."


"We need to get to the top. Now."


She grabs my hand, half-dragging me forward. My vision blurs. I stumble up a set of stairs before the world tilts. My feet hit steps, then a long drag across the floor. I feel my body being moved, hear Mia grunting as she shifts dirt. My lungs burn. My heart pounds sluggishly.


Then—air. A rush of fresh air.


Cold water splashes my face.


"Wake up!" Mia shouts.


I jolt, coughing. My head throbs. My vision sharpens as I look around.


Laughter echoes in the distance, distorted and surreal, as if coming from underwater. Heavy footsteps approach, each thud sending a jolt of unease through my aching body. My head spins, my thoughts slipping through my grasp like sand in the wind. I try to sit up, but the world tilts violently, leaving me disoriented, trapped in a fog of confusion.


"Where are we?" I rasp.


Mia grins. "New Boston. Turned out I dug into some guy's basement."


I blink. "You’re kidding, right?"


She laughs. "Nope. And the guy’s rich now because we found the legendary site of Old Boston. Now we just have to excavate the area properly."


"So… I guess we prepare to travel farther?" I ask.


"Yeah. We need to head toward the mission site." Mia sighs.


"What’s wrong?"


"I don’t want to put you in more danger."


"I chose to come along," I say firmly.


"Etha, don’t be like this."


"Like what? You asked me to come, and I came. Now what? You expect me to just walk away like none of this happened?" I exclaim.


She rubs the back of her neck. "I just feel like I’m putting your life at risk too much."


I hold her gaze. "I want to be there to protect you the best I can."