They filed out of the room, their footsteps echoing ominously in the silence. The air grew colder as they moved down the corridor, the walls narrowing, closing in on them with each step. Every door they passed was closed, some sealed tightly, others barely hanging on their hinges. Strange sounds came from within—a child's laughter, the muffled sound of crying, the faint, distorted piano notes.
Haider slowed, his face a mask of concentration. "We're walking through Victor's memories, fears, everything he's suppressed."
As they neared the light, they found themselves in front of another door, this one more elaborate than the rest. Intricate carvings spiraled across its surface, depicting scenes of grandeur, wealth, and power. But something was wrong—the figures in the carvings had no faces, just empty hollows where eyes should have been.
