Radji lay curled on the stone floor of the natural cave, his entire body trembling from the aftermath of absolute terror. His glasses were cracked across one lens, the frames bent from when he'd pressed against the compressing walls. Blood had dried on his hands where he'd clawed at the stone, and his clothes were torn in multiple places.
But worse than the physical damage was the way his mind kept replaying those final moments in the coffin of stone. The crushing pressure, the inability to breathe, the certainty that he was going to die without understanding why. His analytical nature, which had always been his greatest strength, felt fractured.
"Still alive," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and shaky. "Calculate that probability."
But even as he tried to joke, his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Every few minutes, his breathing would accelerate as phantom pressure closed around his chest, making him gasp and fight against walls that were no longer there.
