The vent shaft was narrow and coated in dust, the air stale with old metal and mildew. Her fingers scraped against the sides as she crawled, limbs aching, heart pounding too fast for someone that's barely healed.
Qingran kept her weight low, moving slow and deliberate, the sound of her breath was the only one, besides the faint hum of the building's dying electricity.
She followed the airflow, the faintest draft guiding her through a turn, up a slope, and eventually toward a faint glimmer of light ahead.
It wasn't sunlight, it was too dark and was purple in color.
Her blood turned cold.
She knew that color. That hue wasn't natural. It was Riftlight.
The vent opened near a maintenance panel tucked in the wall of a stairwell. Qingran nudged it loose, wincing as the metal creaked. She paused. No one came running. Still no voices. No footsteps. The place was dead silent.
Carefully, she slid out, dropping to the floor with a soft thud.
