The Last Cell
Footsteps thudded down the stone steps, Leon moving into a darkness so thick it seemed to drink the light. Torch flames flickered sideways in their mounts, gasping weak fire against walls of shadow. Wisps of smoke drifted like slow thoughts, bringing smells - old oil, wet rock - all hanging low in the stillness.
Cold crept in more with each stride forward. The atmosphere grew heavy, dense. Like it resisted filling lungs at all.
Footsteps came close behind, slow but sure, boots hitting stone in rhythm while he walked ahead. Metal brushed cloth with each step, a soft scrape under breathless silence. They moved together, spaced just right, staying near without touching.
A hush came through, gentle like a held breath - still, it traced cold along his back.
He didn't need protecting - they showed up for another reason.
