The Echoes we Bury
The room was empty, save for a pedestal at its center, upon which rested a small, leather-bound book.
Elliot approached cautiously, his flashlight fixed on the pedestal. The book was worn, its cover cracked and stained, but the Ashworth crest was unmistakable on its surface.
“This must be it,” he said, reaching for the book.
Emma grabbed his arm. “Wait. What if it’s another trap?”
Elliot hesitated, the air in the chamber pressing down on him like a warning. But something about the book pulled at him, a deep, unshakable instinct that told him he needed to see what was inside.
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