Chanmi fumbles with the flashlight. Her palms are sweaty. She can’t stay quiet for long, whispering reassurances to herself and walking as close to Junghae as possible without sharing her shoes.

“Chanmi, please be quiet. If anything’s here, I won’t be able to hear it—” Above them, the ceiling shakes; dust falls over them in shushing cascades of aged debri. Chanmi drops the flashlight and throws herself against the wall with a screaming curse.

Junghae s the meter up, tracking the quaking boards and pressing a finger to her ear. “Is anyone on the second floor, yet?” There’s a hiss of snow, but each group replies negatively.