The wall groaned as it shifted, stone scraping against stone. Dust rained down, and a cold breath of air escaped from the darkness beyond.
Leroy lifted the torch and stepped inside, removing his mask. The darkness obscured his vision.
The space opened wider than he could have imagined. His eyes widened as the flame licked across shapes. Arched doorframes were swallowed by dirt, fragments of frescoes clinging to walls, and broken chandeliers hanging like skeletal remains.
He had stepped into what looked like the husk of an old mansion, long buried beneath the city. The air was heavy with age, dust thick as ash, time itself left to rot.
Furniture still stood in strange defiance. Faded couches slumped against the walls, a half-rotted table sagged under its own weight, and a cracked mirror leaned precariously, its silvered glass clouded and dull. Shreds of moth-eaten fabric still clung to the chairs, a ghost of velvet once rich and soft.
