I duck behind a pile of boxes, pulling a scrap of material over me to hide. It’s thick with dust, and I have to fight not to cough and give myself away.
The air is musty and stale, and I can feel the grit settling in my throat, making my eyes water. My heart races as I hold my breath, straining to hear any movement over the pounding in my ears.
From what I can see, I’m in some storage room. The walls are lined with shelves cluttered with forgotten objects, and the floor is littered with packing materials and debris. I don’t have much time to mull it over, though, as Ledger steps into the room carrying a small wooden box. He places it on a shelf, sending specks of dust dancing in the beam of light provided by a nearly burnt-out bulb. His presence is imposing, and every nerve in my body is
