Clint and Natasha
"Cut her off at what pass?" Clint mostly muttered to himself. All the same, it felt a little more normal; haunted, breathing house aside and the ghostly target to trail, it was a lot more like something he'd be assigned to than Marrowood was used to throwing at them.
Circles was entirely possible in this maze, circles and around the bend and probably into a well laid out trap. There were different kinds of monsters here, not just the human kind with sharp smiles and malicious intent. Here they were true monsters in the story book definition sort of way. Sometimes Clint missed your basic sociopaths and dictators.
Keeping pace with Natasha wasn't difficult, there was an allotted space between them to allow for sudden requirements to shoot something that was not each other but not enough that they could be separated. Even if she wasn't the Natasha he'd infiltrated more countries than he had fingers with, she was still a Natasha that a version of him worked with, there was the familiarity with the skill that just didn't fade away.
Even creepy houses that would suddenly slam up walls in places there shouldn't be walls.
The end of the hall rather abruptly cut off, offering two doors on either side of the dead end to choose from; one scarred to hell with gouges ripped out of the wood, the other looking like it'd only just held up through an inferno. "Is this the eeny meeny miney mo of death options? Because I'd rather be gouged than burnt? Did creepy running away girl look burnt or gouged?"