Only the occasional draft broke the steady quiet of that long, dim corridor at regular intervals. I had never felt so cowardly and fragile in my entire life. My body leaned toward the exit, drawn by the idea of escape, while my heart hammered, compressed under the weight of anxiety.
I started walking, studying every detail I could: the layout of the doors — five on the right, three on the left — the paintings hanging on the walls with an almost obsessive precision, the pattern of the parquet forming intricate geometric shapes. The rush of blood in my veins was so loud in my ears I was afraid they could hear it — whoever *they* were in this situation.
Every door I passed looked identical to the one before it. No distinguishing marks, no nameplates, nothing that could help me get my bearin
