I'll Follow You Down Here

"She’s not a statistic," Elias muttered, his voice muffled by the mask.

"She is lost," the drone insisted. "Gravity is a one-way street, Elias."

Eventually, the vertical tunnels opened into a vast, silent cavern. At the center sat an old atmospheric processor, humming with a soft, bioluminescent glow. And there, sitting on a heap of scrap, was Lena. She was covered in grease, her eyes fixed on a small, green sprout growing from a crack in the floor—the first real life Elias had seen in years. I'll Follow You Down

Elias slumped against the cold metal beside her, his lungs burning, his boots ruined. He reached out and took her hand.

"I know," he said, the weight of the miles above them finally feeling light. "I told you. Wherever you go, " "She’s not a statistic," Elias muttered, his voice

"You don't have to do this," the drone hovering over his shoulder buzzed. Its optic lens flickered blue, a cold imitation of concern. "The atmospheric pressure alone will crush your lungs before you hit the mid-levels. Statutory law says she’s already processed."

Elias didn't look back. He tightened the straps of his rebreather, the rubber tasting of salt and old copper. He remembered Lena’s hand in his three nights ago, her fingers trembling as she whispered about a signal she’d found—a ghost in the machine calling from the deep. She had gone to find the source. She hadn't come back. At the center sat an old atmospheric processor,

He looked into the abyss. It was a throat of twisted metal and steam, miles deep. Most people spent their lives looking up at the spires, dreaming of the sun. Elias only cared about the shadows. "Then I’m changing direction," he said. He stepped off the ledge.