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Five.
She paused, holding her breath.
He held his.
"H-hello?" she said, her voice a faint, careworn moan.
He just stared down at her. Only a few feet away, yet in the dark, she couldn't see him.
She reached out, her hand scrambling in the dark... She found stones... She found rock.
And then her fingers brushed his foot. She tensed, reached up... and her hand enclosed around his leg.
In the wake of silence, her scream shattered the stillness like a pane of glass. She pivoted on instinct alone, her foot catching on an unseen obstacle that sent her careening into the cold embrace of the tunnel wall. The impact came with a sickening thud, her breath whooshing out as she crumpled to the ground.
The prospector watched the scene unfold, his night-vision goggles casting the world in shades of green and black. Even through the technological filter, he could see the disorientation etching itself across her features—a map of confusion and fear drawn in the lines of her furrowed brow and the slack jaw of her agape mouth.
He stepped over her trembling form, his boots whispering against the dirt floor. It was not mercy that stayed his hand; it was purpose. He had come too far, delved too deep into this mountain's secrets to be swayed by the plight of one lost soul.
Her sobs were a distant melody to him, notes that failed to resonate within the cavern of his chest. His heart beat a steady rhythm, in time with his measured steps, each one carrying him away from her and deeper into the abyss.
There was no hesitation in his gait, no flicker of doubt in the set of his shoulders. The knife, wiped clean, now rested back in its sheath—its job done for the moment. Ahead lay the dark maw of another passage, and it was there he directed his unwavering resolve.
The woman's cries echoed behind him, but the sound did not penetrate the singular focus of his mind.
She wouldn't die.
Not yet.
They all had a chance. The same chance.
His fingers, stained with the evidence of his recent violence exacted on another soul, reached into the canvas pouch slung across his chest. They emerged clutching a small object that captured what little light there was, throwing off sparks of brilliance against the darkness. With deliberate care, he crouched and placed it upon the cold ground—a beacon or a breadcrumb.
As he straightened, his breath caught. The silence felt heavy, expectant. He could sense her—the woman—somewhere behind him, her presence an unwanted anchor to a reality he yearned to escape. Yet, he was acutely aware of the power he held in this moment, the control he wielded over her unseen terror.
He allowed himself a shallow exhale, the noise intentional, a ghostly whisper meant to travel through the tunnel's winding path. It was a psychological maneuver, a twist of the knife not yet sunken into flesh but equally sharp. Her breathing hitched, audible even from his distance, and he knew then that she had heard him.
A cruel satisfaction nestled itself within his ribs, as fleeting as the warmth of the blood that had once coated his blade. He relished the way her fear thickened the air, how it made the very darkness seem alive with her silent screams.
He stood statuesque, an unwavering sentinel of stone and sinew, allowing the seconds to stretch until they snapped under the weight of anticipation. The game was one of patience, of calculated moves and unspoken threats—a game he had mastered long ago.
With the glistening item now resting behind him like a false promise, he stood back and waited, watching.
She would find the flashlight he'd hidden.
They always did.
She would turn it on.
Then time would tell...
Would she choose freedom?
Or would the glistening object's luster draw her in, ensnaring her?
They all chose the same.
But they all had a choice.
