The two slipped inside, their steps silent against the creaking floorboards. The shop's interior was a labyrinth of chaos, with overturned shelves leaning precariously against the walls and scattered tools littering the floor in disarray. Each jagged piece of debris cast distorted shadows in the dim, flickering light that filtered through cracks in the boarded-up windows, creating an atmosphere that was both tense and oppressive. The air was thick with the stale scent of leather and mildew, a ghostly remnant of the cobbler's former trade.
Liora crouched low, his sharp eyes darting around the room, taking in every detail with methodical precision. His hand hovered near the hilt of his dagger, ready to react at the faintest sign of danger. Derrin lingered just behind him, his breathing shallow but steady, his crossbow held at the ready. Every creak of the wooden floorboards under their weight seemed amplified in the suffocating silence, each sound a potential alarm.
