"I know," Ellie answers solemnly. Abby always checks, she's just as careful as Ellie is and sometimes moreso.
They both know it's always possible to overlook stalkers, because they're that fucking good sometimes. What's terrifying about the world they grew up in is that you can do everything, everything right and still die.
Ellie gives a silent nod and goes low, taking them down the corridor. They don't tell anyone they're leaving.
She's quieter than Abby is, and she finds herself holding her breath out of habit, even if it does nothing for her visibility, and the adrenaline rushing through her veins won't give her anything in the way of supernatural help. (Should she feel diminished, vulnerable? Does she have a right to?)
They get to the corner and Ellie pauses, listening for scratching, breathing, the rasp of anything in the dark. Her flashlight is off because they'll see it, and hide. Her back's to the light they've left behind, her vision adjusting. She switches her grip to guard, and steps out into the corridor, and nothing jumps her.
Ellie doesn't bother to gesture to Abby to guard her back. She knows she will. Instead she presses on, listening for the rustle of air and breath. It has to move eventually, even if only because it wants to follow.
She turns a corner at a crouch and goes dead still, reaching behind her to lay a hand on the back of Abby's wrist, draw her attention to what's in front of her.
Two cubicles away, there is a shadow with stalks crouching in the moonlight, turned away from them.
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They both know it's always possible to overlook stalkers, because they're that fucking good sometimes. What's terrifying about the world they grew up in is that you can do everything, everything right and still die.
Ellie gives a silent nod and goes low, taking them down the corridor. They don't tell anyone they're leaving.
She's quieter than Abby is, and she finds herself holding her breath out of habit, even if it does nothing for her visibility, and the adrenaline rushing through her veins won't give her anything in the way of supernatural help. (Should she feel diminished, vulnerable? Does she have a right to?)
They get to the corner and Ellie pauses, listening for scratching, breathing, the rasp of anything in the dark. Her flashlight is off because they'll see it, and hide. Her back's to the light they've left behind, her vision adjusting. She switches her grip to guard, and steps out into the corridor, and nothing jumps her.
Ellie doesn't bother to gesture to Abby to guard her back. She knows she will. Instead she presses on, listening for the rustle of air and breath. It has to move eventually, even if only because it wants to follow.
She turns a corner at a crouch and goes dead still, reaching behind her to lay a hand on the back of Abby's wrist, draw her attention to what's in front of her.
Two cubicles away, there is a shadow with stalks crouching in the moonlight, turned away from them.