“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.

“Walk down.”

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