The hallway swallowed them like a throat, the light from their flashlights doing little more than scratching the surface of the darkness. The air was cooler here, more still—as if whatever was in this part of the building had been waiting undisturbed for a long time.
Nell kept close behind Callen, her weapon raised, eyes alert. The soft soles of their boots made barely a sound on the cracked linoleum floor. Each step felt like a decision.
They passed broken office doors, some hanging open, others shut tight. Most had long since been gutted—desks overturned, filing cabinets rusted through. In one, a dusty chair sat perfectly upright in the center of the room, like someone had just gotten up to get coffee… ten years ago.
Then, they heard it again.
A voice. Muffled. Sharp.
It came from farther down the hall, behind one of the closed doors. Callen slowed, raising a hand. Nell stopped beside him, heart thudding quietly against her ribs. He gave her a look—a silent question. Ready?
She nodded. Always.
He moved to the door slowly, the barrel of his weapon leading the way. Nell moved to the other side, mirroring him. They exchanged a silent count with their eyes.
Three… two… one—
Callen burst through the door, sweeping left. Nell swept right. The flashlight beams caught dust swirling in the air and a man—mid-30s, rough, twitchy—whirled to face them with a gun half-raised.
"Drop it!" Callen barked.
The man hesitated just a second too long. Nell didn't. She surged forward, using the angle of the room to her advantage, and knocked the weapon from his hand with a practiced swipe of her boot. It skidded across the floor as Callen closed in and shoved him against the wall, cuffing him before the guy could fully register what hit him.
The man struggled for a second, then stilled—panting, wide-eyed.
"You alone?" Callen asked, voice low and deadly calm.
The man hesitated again—eyes flicking toward the corner of the room.
That's when Nell noticed it—a trapdoor, partially concealed beneath a rotted rug. She motioned with her chin, and Callen followed her line of sight.
"Great," Nell muttered. "Because this wasn't creepy enough already."
Callen looked back at the suspect. "What's down there?"
The man clamped his jaw shut.
Callen didn't wait for an answer. He hauled the guy toward the corner and shoved him into a chair, zip-tying him to the frame. Then he crouched beside the trapdoor, brushing the rug back.
It opened with a groan, revealing a narrow ladder leading into pitch-blackness. Cold air wafted up, damp and stale.
Callen turned to Nell. "You up for this?"
She gave him a dry look. "Is this where I say 'ladies first' or 'after you, boss'?"
He smirked. "Flip a coin?"