There were three bookshelves, but they were bare. Dust motes danced in the light. There was nothing on the floor. No chest. No gold. Just empty wood.
"What is this?" Jason asked, his voice echoing in the small room.
"It's empty," Ren said, running a hand over a dusty shelf. "There's nothing here."
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The adrenaline of the discovery turned into cold frustration.
"We went through all that hell," Jason turned to Oliver, his face twisting in anger. "We lost men. I lost my arm—well, almost. For an empty room?"
"Did you take it?" Ren accused, stepping forward. "You were here first. Did you stash the loot?"
"Use your brain," Oliver sighed, leaning against the wall. "Look at the dust. Look at the shelves. If I took it, where would I put it? Do you see a convoy of wagons behind me? Or do you think I shoved a library up my ass?"
"Dimensional bags exist!" Jason argued.
