Leila didn't hesitate as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, but Florian did.
The moment he crossed the threshold, an uncomfortable chill settled in his chest.
The house was small—far smaller than the one the chief had given him and Heinz—but that wasn't what unsettled him. It was the sheer state of neglect that filled every corner.
Dust blanketed the wooden floorboards, so thick it dulled what little light managed to filter through the small, dirt-streaked window. Cobwebs stretched from the ceiling beams, thin strands clinging to the edges of the walls.
The furniture—what little there was—was barely more than broken remnants. A rickety wooden table. A single, uneven chair. A thin, moth-eaten blanket draped haphazardly over a makeshift sleeping area in the corner.
It felt… abandoned.
'No, not abandoned. Forsaken.'
Florian had expected modesty, but this—this was something else entirely.
Leila's voice broke through the silence, cutting through the stagnant air.
