Follow me, she says. He sidles up, one hand on his hip, edges inward. Mind the gap, she says. The sunlight splits above her head, a hundred shafts of yellow splintering through blackness. They hear water. A thousand things could happen here, where it’s dark and dank. A thousand invisible, undoable things could happen. He could lose her. He could lose himself. They both could lose the sun. Instead, they trundle forward, grabbing rock when they don’t grab each other. When it’s over, they measure dirt in their palms, grateful they can see. Next time, she says, bring a flashlight.