The suffocating, wet concrete smell filled a tunnel. It clung to the dark uniform the Hawks team wore.
Now underground, they navigated the way to find the entrance to the masquerade ball.
Adjusting the straps on her tactical vest, Seven took one more step when a sudden crushing grip locked onto her wrist and yanked her around.
Five stared back at her with wide eyes while his chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. He opened his mouth to talk, but only a dry click caught in his throat.
"Five?" She searched his face as she tried to pull her arm free. "What is it?"
No answer came. His fingers dug into her wrist, trembling.
"We don't have time for this," she whispered, trying to pull free, however, his grip only tightened.
"Five. I can't read minds, you know. You hardly talk, and it's scaring me. So...tell me what's wrong."
Staring into her deep crimson eyes, he nodded, opening his mouth again, trying to say something.
