The stone steps wound downward into darkness, the narrow stairwell lit only by flickering torches mounted along the rough-hewn walls.
Thorn, Elias, and Valen followed the gang leader into the depths of Summerhold, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone.
The deeper they went, the thicker the air became, heavy with the scent of smoke, sweat, and damp earth.
Thorn whistled softly under his breath, glancing around with casual interest. "Nice setup." He murmured. "Bit cramped, but cozy."
Elias gave him a look that said focus, but Thorn just grinned wider.
At the base of the stairs, the tunnel opened into a series of torch-lit corridors. Guards loitered at key intersections, gruff men and women armed with short swords and clubs, faces hardened by years of street warfare.
Their eyes narrowed as Thorn and the others passed, but none moved to stop them.
