As they continued down the corridor, the sounds of chattering and music from the grand hall faded into a distant hum. Only their footsteps echoed against the marble floor. The hallway stretched before them, dim and sterile, with the occasional flicker from an overhead bulb.
Anne's unease deepened. She slowed slightly and glanced over her shoulder. The corridor behind them was empty and silent.
"Where is the tool room?" she asked.
"Just at the far end," the man replied, not meeting her eyes.
Anne's fingers clenched the fabric of her dress as a chill ran down her spine. The light above them buzzed, then flickered again eerily.
They reached a heavy door tucked at the corridor's end. The man pushed it open just a crack and motioned her inside.
Anne hesitated but stepped in, lifting the hem of her dress. Boxes were stacked high along the walls—leather rolls, crates, and scattered tool kits cluttered the space. But there was no sign of Sarah.
