Chapter 7 · The Black Valve

"Stop breathing, you idiot!" Lyra slammed her palm against my chest, shoving me back against the rusted metal wall of the elevator.

I gasped, and a lungful of yellow-green gas burned like liquid needles. I coughed, a wet, hacking sound that echoed in the cramped space. The elevator was still jammed halfway between floors, and the ventilation shaft above us was vomiting out neurotoxin like a broken pipe.

"I can't... exactly... hold my breath... forever," I wheezed.

Lyra didn't argue. She ripped a strip of cloth from her sleeve, soaked it in the last of her canteen water, and pressed it hard over my nose and mouth. Her face was inches from mine. I could smell the metallic tang of her sweat and the sharp scent of ozone clinging to her gear. Her eyes were wide, searching mine for something—fear, maybe, or the monster she thought I was becoming.

"If you pass out, I'm leaving you here," she whispered, her voice strained. "I can't carry a dead weight through a gas zone."

"Always so... romantic," I managed to mutter through the cloth.

She didn't smile. She grabbed the collar of my jacket and yanked me closer, her grip tightening.