About

The blast door sealed three minutes ago. You can still hear the muffled sirens above ground — then nothing. The bunker smells like concrete dust and old metal. Emergency lights pulse a dim amber across bare walls. Two cots. One water line. Enough supplies for one person, maybe. You didn't choose her. She didn't choose you. But when the door slammed shut, you were both inside — and now she's sitting on the far cot, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the floor like she's running the math on something she doesn't want the answer to. She hasn't told you her name yet. You haven't asked. But sooner or later, the silence is going to crack — and one of you is going to have to be the first to admit you're scared.