The sound of the old door creaking open echoed through the still night as Azreal and his group stepped inside. The air inside the building was thick with dust, and a faint scent of old wood lingered in the air. Eric reached for the switch on the wall and flicked it.
A dim light flickered to life, buzzing weakly before finally illuminating the space. The place looked like a run-down restaurant — a long counter stretched across the wall, with rusted shelves behind it. There were no tables, no chairs, just a few scattered crates and a broken ceiling fan that looked like it hadn't spun in years.
Eric dusted his hands and turned to them. "Make yourself at home," he said casually, though even he knew how pathetic that sounded in a place like this.
Lyra floated lazily in the air, arms crossed, her expression unimpressed. "Even hell was better than this," she muttered.
Laisa's voice cracked as she rubbed her temples. "I can't believe we have to live here until the investigation is over."
