They stood frozen at the bottom of the ladder, their flashlights cutting weak cones through the clammy, unmoving air. The underground room felt wrong. Too still. Too cold. Too quiet for a space sealed away for who-knew-how long. Daniel took one cautious step forward.
The dirt floor compressed beneath his boot with a soft, muffled crunch, like he was walking on damp mulch rather than soil. Megan’s nose wrinkled. “That smell… it’s stronger down here,” she whispered. Daniel lifted the flashlight and aimed it at the metal door. It wasn’t just rusting. It was bowing, ever so slightly, inward.