The moment it creaked ajar, a stale, suffocating stench rushed out, thick and cloying, as if the air inside had been sealed for far too long. Even Zhane's nose wrinkled instinctively at the smell, his brows tightening for a brief second.
Behind him, several of his men immediately coughed violently, their expressions twisting as they struggled to suppress the wave of nausea rising in their throats. One of them even turned his head away, covering his mouth as he forced himself to endure the odor, his stomach churning at the foul mix of disinfectant, dampness, and the faint, lingering scent of decay.
The room itself felt cold, neglected, and eerily still, the kind of place where time seemed to stagnate along with the air.
"Damn… what the hell is that smell…" one of the men muttered under his breath, unable to hold back the curse.
