The tension inside the private room had not eased since John Keel bowed before Dante.
The air remained thick, oppressive, as though even breathing too loudly would invite disaster. No one dared raise their voice above a whisper. Some didn’t dare breathe at all.
Then—
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
They were slow, deliberate, heavy with authority. The sound of boots striking polished floorboards carried an unmistakable pressure that silenced what little murmuring remained.
The door swung open.
Two men entered.
The first wore a dark blue police uniform, his cap tucked neatly beneath his arm. The badge on his chest caught the light as he moved, gleaming sharply. His eyes were keen, assessing, the kind of gaze that could dissect a room in seconds and find every hidden fault.
The seco
