The silence on the other side felt unnatural—like the air had been sucked out of the room.
His hand slipped into his coat pocket. The spare key felt colder than it should have.
He hesitated only a second before sliding it into the lock.
The click echoed louder than it had any right to.
He pushed the door open slowly.
Darkness swallowed the room.
His pulse began to climb.
He stepped inside and reached for the oil lamp near the wall. The wick caught after two strikes. Flame flickered weakly, then steadied, casting long, distorted shadows across the room.
The bed was empty.
And on the floor—
The leader lay sprawled beside the bed, neck bent at an impossible angle.
Eyes open. Unblinking.
His mouth hung slightly ajar, as if the last thing he'd tried to do was shout.
But no one had heard him.
The deputy leader's grip tightened around the lamp. The flame trembled with his hand.
No blood.
