The corridor sloped downward, its stone walls rougher, colder. Moss crept between cracks, slick beneath his boots. The warm torchlight from the upper levels was gone; here, faint blue lanterns burned with alchemical oil, casting eerie shadows that swayed like restless spirits.
Shade's breathing slowed until it matched the sound of distant dripping water.
Two guards approached from the opposite end — not in a patrol, but chatting idly, oblivious to the shadow that merged into the wall's curve.
A quick step, a silent draw. The first guard was pulled into the darkness, a gloved hand over his mouth. The second turned, confusion flashing in his eyes — then Shade's dagger kissed his throat, warm crimson staining the stone before his body could crumple.
He dragged both into a storage alcove, shutting the door behind them without a sound.
The air here was different. Staler. It smelled faintly of old parchment and… blood.
