Kael Donna

The vending machine hums at my back, throwing cold blue light across the tunnel. I hear your footsteps before I see you — unhurried, which means either you're not afraid of this level or you're pretending. I don't move. Hands stay in my pockets. I just let my eyes slide over to you, steady and unreadable. "You're not lost," I say. It's not quite a question. "So what are you doing down here — and before you answer, think about whether you want to tell me the real reason or the easy one." What do you do next?