“Scenic route?” Her voice rises an octave, fear bleeding through. “Freddie, please tell me you know where we are.”
“Well,knowis a strong word...”
Alex’s breathing goes ragged, her chest heaving like she’s running a marathon. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
I reach for her automatically, but she flinches away. Fuck. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll just backtrack and?—”
“It’s not okay!” The words explode off the tunnel walls, amplified by panic. “We’re lost in a freakin’ mine, Freddie! We could die down here!”
Panic rises in her eyes, and then I remember—she’s claustrophobic. Of all the stupid, thoughtless...shit.
“Alex,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Alex, look at me. We’re going to be fine. I need you to breathe with me.”
She shakes her head, backing up until she hits the wall. Her eyes are wide and unfocused in a way that scared the hell out of me. “I can’t—I can’t breathe. The walls are closing in. Freddie, I?—”
Her gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, everything else fades—the oppressive darkness, the danger, all of it. It’s just us, breathing together under the dim glow of our headlamps. She’s clinging to me like I’m her anchor, and I swallow hard, my throat dry.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice low but steady. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing with me.”
We stand there like that for what feels like hours. Gradually, the frantic look in Alex’s eyes dulls, replaced by exhaustion and a lingering shadow of fear. Without warning, she collapses against my chest, her arms winding around my waist. I freeze for a split second, before instinct takes over. I pull her closer, one handcradling the back of her head, the other tracing soothing circles on her back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my shirt, her voice rough, raw. “I don’t know what came over me.”
I press my lips to her forehead, without thinking, letting them linger perhaps a second too long. “Don’t apologize. We’re in this together, remember? I’ve got your back.”
She doesn’t pull away immediately, and I try not to read too much into how perfectly she fits against me. When she finally steps back, her cheeks are flushed, eyes still clouded with the remnants of panic.
“Okay,” she says, taking a steadying breath. Her hands smooth down my shirt, where her fingers had been gripping it. “Okay, let’s figure out how to get out of here.”
I have to physically stop myself from pulling her back into my arms. Instead, I focus, forcing my mind to think rationally. “Right. Let’s assess. We’re alive, which is a good start. Our headlamps still work. And we have…” I pat my pockets, trying to ignore the cold, empty space where her body was pressed against mine. “Half a protein bar and a bottle of water. You?”
Alex rummages through her backpack, her movements quick but methodical, still standing close enough that I catch the faint scent of her shampoo—something floral and fresh. “Some trail mix, a first aid kit, and… oh thank God, my water filter straw.”
“Damn, Lexie. Did you pack a portable shower too?” I tease, but I’m a little impressed. Of course she’d be prepared for anything. That’s Alex—always thinking ten steps ahead.
She rolls her eyes but there’s a warmth in her gaze that makes my chest tighten. “Unlike some people, I like to be prepared.”
“Hey, I’m prepared!” I protest, patting my pockets dramatically. “Protein bars and my charming personality. That’s gotten me out of worse situations.”
“Name one,” she challenges, but her hand finds my arm as we carefully navigate around a fallen beam. She doesn’t let go immediately, and the sensation of her touch lingers.
I pull out my phone, cringing at the low battery. Fuck. “Okay, let’s power these down,” I say, forcing confidence into my voice. “Save the batteries for emergencies. The headlamps should be enough.”
Alex nods, powering down her phone with slightly trembling hands. I resist the urge to take them in mine.
“So,” I say, deliberately casual, “on a scale of ‘oops’ to ‘we’re totally screwed,’ where would you rate our current situation?”
“Somewhere between ‘what were we thinking’ and ‘I’m going to kill you when we get out of here,’“ she manages, but her laugh is shaky. Her fingers find my sleeve again, gripping the fabric.
“Hey,” I say softly, covering her hand with mine. “We’ve got this. Operation Don’t Die in a Mine is officially a go.”
“Operation Don’t Die in a Mine?” She repeats, trying to sound sassy. “Real creative, Freddie. Did you come up with that all by yourself?”
I gasp, deliberately hamming it up to keep her distracted. “Ouch. And here I thought I was being clever. How about Project Escape the Hole?”
“Marginally better,” she concedes. There’s a hint of a real smile now, and my heart does a stupid little victory dance. “Though it sounds like a bad reality TV show.”
“Hey, I’d watch that.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Picture it: ‘Two students, one dark mine, zero sense of direction.’ We could make millions.”
