No one in the high-tech garage noticed the transformation in Chloe Bishop. Her skin had shifted from a sickly pallor to a bruised, ashen grey. She was trembling so violently her teeth threatened to chatter, her entire body submerged in a cold so crystalline it felt like standing in the direct exhaust of an industrial freezer.
The sensation of being watched returned—sharper, more predatory than before. She couldn't pinpoint the source, but she was certain, with a conviction that defied logic, that the "thing" from the Dungeon was here, lurking within the shadows of the wine cellar.
The cellar was an open, elegant space. Mahogany racks lined the walls, simple and sophisticated, offering a clear line of sight from one end to the other. There were no hidden alcoves, no dark corners large eno
