Eliza tried to turn the lock.
First gently, as if afraid of waking something sleeping behind that door.
Nothing.
She tried again, this time with more force, until the metallic echo struck the silence of the hallway. The sound bounced between the walls like a held breath, and the cold of the metal bit her fingers.
But the mechanism didn't yield.
It didn't even move.
She frowned, bringing her face closer.
The lock was ancient, carved with almost ritual precision. It had no visible keyhole, just an irregular circle that seemed to move with the light, as if the material breathed beneath its surface.
Eliza ran her fingers along the contour, feeling a slight, constant vibration that traveled up her arm.
"What kind of key would open this?" she murmured to herself, her voice almost trembling.
