“Mind your step.”
I nodded. I’d waited too long for this to end my chance with a twisted ankle. The stairs were strewn with leaves and refuse.
“Leave no sign. It will be dark.”
I dipped my chin again in acquiescing. I’d promised that no matter what, I would not make a sound. I hoped the thunder of my heart between my ears did not transmit over the earpiece.
I did. Tried not to think about the booby traps.
If I made it in one piece, the door would open. To tunnels. To the safety of the Under-Town.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Roger Bultot