The streets of Houston were alive with distant car horns and faint murmurs, but the air around the hotel felt unnervingly still as Hutton, Bob, and Boma approached its grand entrance. The building loomed above them, its glass doors reflecting the faint glow of streetlights.
"This is it," Boma muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stopped a few paces from the door. "The presence I've been sensing—it's coming from inside."
Hutton glanced at Bob, whose usual composed demeanor seemed a touch tenser than usual. Bob gave him a slight nod, silently signaling readiness, and the trio stepped through the glass doors.
The lobby was lavishly decorated with golden chandeliers, marble floors, and intricate patterns etched into the walls. The atmosphere, however, was anything but welcoming. The moment they crossed the threshold, a wave of palpable hostility washed over them, sending a chill down their spines.
