The echo of the metallic clatter still hummed in Ethan's ears. Silence returned like a held breath,
thicker than before.
He shot a look at Reyna and Daniel, jerking his chin toward the dark hallway.
"Move quiet," he murmured. "Weapons ready."
Reyna hefted her longsword, resting the flat of the blade against her shoulder. A glimmer of grim
anticipation burned in her eyes.
Daniel swallowed hard and shifted his grip on the battered axe he'd found earlier, the haft sweatslick in his palms.
The three of them advanced.
Every step was measured, soundless. Ethan glided over debris, his boots brushing dust into faint
spirals. Light from gaps in the ruined ceiling traced ghostly shapes along cracked walls, catching
on splinters of glass like shards of stars.
The hallway twisted ahead, oppressive and tight, as though the very stones were leaning inward
to listen. The smell of mold and stale blood clung to the air, thick enough to taste.
