The night was quiet.
Alpha Drevan's boots echoed against the marble floor as he walked down the corridor. The noise from the club had faded behind him; only the sound of his footsteps and the faint hum of the city outside filled the silence.
The direction written on that torn note pulled him here...to this long, dark hallway that smelled faintly of dust and old perfume. The lights flickered weakly, barely pushing back the shadows that clung to the walls.
He stopped once, scanning the darkness ahead. Nothing...there is only silence.
Still, he kept walking. Whoever had dared to send him that note had to be somewhere close.
His instincts were sharp. Someone was watching him. He could feel it. That subtle weight in the air, that cold prickle at the back of his neck.
He reached the end of the corridor. A single door was slightly open. And all other doors are closed.
