One had been shoved slightly forward, its lid crooked. A slow drip slid from a crack near the base, pooling on the floor before seeping toward the doorway. The pink liquid. Up close, it was unmistakable—wine, diluted and thin, smelling faintly sweet and sharp all at once. “So that’s what was on the wall,” Nora murmured. Ethan frowned. “It’s been leaking for a while.”
The idea settled uncomfortably in his chest. Someone hadn’t just been here recently. Someone was here now. But the room didn’t end there. At the far end, where a wall should have been, the stone simply continued inward. The wooden floor stopped abruptly, giving way to bare rock that sloped downward into darkness. A tunnel.