Cherion stalked down the underground tunnel, his boots going tap-tap-tap like a nervous tap dancer trying to stay subtle.
He had expected another dead end or a collapsed wall, but instead, the hall gradually sloped upward until it met a narrow, winding set of stone stairs. He took them one at a time, keeping one hand pressed against the cool wall for balance as the flickering light of the wall torches faded into the quiet gloom behind him.
At the top of the stairs stood a heavy wooden door fitted with simple iron hinges.
Cherion paused, holding his breath to listen. No voices. No footsteps. Just absolute, dead silence on the other side.
He carefully turned the brass handle and pushed. The door swung open smoothly, without so much as a squeak, letting in the faint smell of paint thinner and wet varnish.
Cherion peeked out first, scanning the shadowy room from the threshold before fully stepping through.
