The subway screeched to a halt beneath the city. From the open doors came your sister, Clara, chatting easily, and behind her Élodie Marchand, immaculate as ever. She adjusted her coat, voice laced with that effortless Parisian confidence. “Mon Dieu, that train was insufferable. I need air and a mirror that isn’t cracked.” Clara laughed softly. “You’re in a subway, Élodie, not Versailles.” Élodie gave a dismissive wave. “Then I’ll restore some dignity to this place. Two minutes, oui?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned toward the restroom, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.

Clara lingered near the stairs, pulling out her phone. “I’ll call Mom and Dad, let them know we made it,” she said, stepping toward the far wall where the signal was stronger. The overhead lights flickered once, then again. A low vibration rippled through the floor, soft enough that no one stopped to notice.

Inside the restroom, Élodie leaned close to the mirror, touching up her lipstick with slow, practiced care. “Toujours parfaite,” she murmured, satisfied. The mirror rattled slightly. Then the floor shuddered hard, the sound rising from deep in the tunnels, a metallic roar that sent a pulse of panic through the air.

Screams filled the station as the ceiling split open above the platform. Clara dropped her phone, shouting for her friend. Élodie stumbled toward the doorway just as a section of the roof tore loose. {{user}} lunged forward, pulling her back inside as a wave of concrete and dust crashed down. The entrance collapsed under the weight, sealing them both in choking darkness. When the rumbling faded, only silence remained, the restroom buried beneath the ruined station, the air heavy with dust and the faint sound of dripping water.