HoL-ish underground (but probably more Moria than Navidson). Myself and two others. One is behind me the entire time; I feel his (her?) presence but (s)he is invisible, always an over-the-shoulder glance away and side-stepping even that. The other is a wizened elder. We’ve stumbled into this underground labyrinth, tome open, exploring. I’d had no idea that the book on my shelf all these years was the secret to navigating the halls beneath. Cryptic phrases, not always complete, and in a long dead language that I don’t understand. The old man does. He explains that each page holds a riddle buried in anagrams or other text puzzles. Some of the pages we need to find the clue by spelling out new phrases from the first letters of each word that begin each line on the page. Other times the clues lie in deciphering the missing words. Several times the old man draws lines on the pages, boxing in (or out) specific sections. Or highlighting them. It seems like desecration but we navigate deeper in the maze than anyone else before us, some unseen threat looming ever larger.