The air had changed.
Not just in temperature—it was colder now, yes—but in something deeper, something wrong. It wasn't the crisp, biting chill of an early morning. It was the kind of cold that settled, slipping beneath skin, creeping into the marrow of his bones like an unspoken warning.
Florian slowed his steps.
The village was eerily silent. No shuffling of footsteps, no murmurs behind wooden doors, no distant sound of livestock stirring awake. No flickering lanterns casting warm glows through window slats.
Just... emptiness.
'Too quiet.'
His fingers tightened around the fabric of his cloak, pulling it closer as if that would do anything to shake the unease crawling down his spine. The wind picked up, rustling dry leaves along the dirt path, but it carried no warmth. Only a biting chill that clung to his skin.
And the smell.
Florian's breath hitched as his gaze flickered back to the storage unit.
