The door groaned as it shut behind him. Mark winced and froze in place, listening—nothing but the crackle of distant firewood, the low groan of the structure settling in the night. His boots were near-silent against the hardwood as he moved cautiously, hand grazing the rough wall for balance.
The air down here was colder. Staler. Like it had been sealed off for a long time.
And thicker. Heavy with the scent of mold, sweat, and something else—something rank.
The hallway was narrow, carved out like an afterthought beneath the main floor. Low ceilings. No windows. Just the dull hum of Mark’s pulse in his ears and the distant scream of his instincts begging him to be ready for anything.
He passed one closed door. Then another.
Then he saw it—just ahead, a door barely cracked open. A slive
