Jo's Compartment

The narrow corridor Jo presses into is a hollow between the TARDIS's circular hall and its shadowed storage nooks, its walls curving slightly with the ship's inner geometry. Cramped enough that her elbows nearly touch both sides, the space tightens when she turns to face the sealed door, the wood-grained surface trembling under a metallic grip trying the handle from outside. A faint hum vibrates through the console-mounted air recyclers, carrying the sterile tang of old metal and the faintest scent of ozone that lingers after temporal storms. The corridor's only light spills from a flickering panel above a nearby sensor pad, casting a sickly yellow pool across the floor-boards where faint triangular marks are already forming in the dust. The unseen hunter's probe sears the door's seam with a brief, acrid whiff of extinguisher foam before retreating, leaving the silence thicker, the waiting heavier. Each breath Jo draws tastes of recycled air and borrowed time.