We walked deeper into the mansion, the air growing heavier with dust and decay. The faint smell of mold clung to the air, mixed with something metallic and old.
A few steps later, I pushed open a half-broken wooden door. The hinges let out a low, aching creak, and a cold draft swept through.
We stepped inside.
The scene that greeted us inside was quiet and dim, dust floating lazily through the air like drifting ash.
A small bed rested against the far wall, its sheets faded and frayed. The room was filled with old-fashioned furniture—an antique dresser, a cracked mirror, and a few oil lamps that looked like they hadn't been used in years.
It seemed the mansion still carried the faint traces of whoever once lived here.
I took a quick glance around before pointing toward the least damaged chair in the room.
"Sit," I said, my voice muffled through the helmet.
"Thank you," Anna replied softly.
