The platform continued its descent with slow metallic creaks, each link of the chain protesting under their combined weight and the mounting tension in the air. The light from above already seemed too distant to matter, reduced to a pale circle far above, while below, torches lit in sequence transformed the underground into a corridor of long, menacing shadows.
Damon remained motionless at the front of the platform, one hand casually resting on the side chain, as if descending towards a possible ambush were just another administrative inconvenience. His eyes, however, were alert, scanning every detail of the subterranean chamber that gradually emerged.
Ancient stone walls.
Arches reinforced with new beams.
Improvised pipes carrying liquids between adjacent rooms.
Symbols hastily painted over faded coats of arms.
This was no mere hideout.
It was an active facility.
"I hate when criminals are organized," Cherry murmured behind him.
