It'll be fine. They're quick, they know what they're doing.

So why is her heart racing? She follows Ellie down the hall, heavy-limbed with dread, palm sweaty around her weapon's grip. It was like this every time wasn't it, it came as natural as breath, it's been a while (that's all).

Crouched, she stretches out a hand toward an old bottle lying on its side at the corner, rolls it in her palm.

It's so quiet she can't even hear Ellie breathing... a single touch serves a perfect warning. Abby looks. Twisting her hand around she taps her fingertips on Ellie's wrist twice, got it, and lobs the bottle high, to fall and break against the far wall with a tinkling crash.

The stalker lurches out into the open with a gargling shriek, toward the sound.