The cellar beneath Casimir Thrane's rented house had once stored wine.
The old oak racks were still there, though most of the bottles had long since disappeared.
Only the smell remained.
Old wood.
Dust.
Stone.
And something colder.
Thrane had rented the building for eleven years.
For the first two, the cellar had been nothing more than extra storage.
For the last nine...
It had belonged to something else.
He descended the narrow steps after dinner, carrying a single candle.
Only one.
Never more.
The flame cast a weak circle of light across the floor and the nearest wall before surrendering to darkness.
That was enough.
More than enough.
Years ago, before he understood the rules, he had brought three lanterns into the cellar.
The memory still visited him sometimes.
Not often.
Only in dreams.
There were things...
He had no wish to see clearly ever again.
He placed the candle on a shelf beside the entrance and remained where he was.
