After what felt like hours of walking, his nerves frayed and his senses heightened, Arthur noticed the arrows had finally come to an end. Instead of leading him further into the store, they pointed to something—a door. He came to a stop in front of it, cursing under his breath at how sketchy it looked. It stood in stark contrast to everything he had seen so far: a plain, ordinary door made of oak, painted a dull white with a handle that appeared ready to fall off at the slightest touch.
Arthur's instincts were screaming at him louder than ever before. Get ready. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a war drum in the eerie silence of the store. Sweat trickled down his back as he stared at the door, his mind racing. Every fiber of his being was telling him to open it, but his rational mind was screaming at him to turn around and run.
