Zyra POV
The darkness is absolute.
I can feel it pressing against me, cold and alive, smelling of wet stone and something faintly metallic, like old blood. Every footstep I take echoes against walls I can’t see, and the air is thick, heavy, suffocating.
I grip my bag tightly, knuckles white. My mind races faster than my legs. The message glows faintly in my hand:
LEVEL ONE: INSTINCT. RUN.
Run. Simple. Deadly.
I take a deep breath, forcing it into my lungs, and step forward.
The first trap finds me immediately.
A wire stretched across the passage at ankle height. I stumble, almost falling face-first into the rough stone, my heart jumping. I catch myself on the wall and force my legs into a sprint, weaving left and right, every sense straining. I don’t know how many of these corrido
