They reached the building—
Catapony's hideout loomed ahead, a crumbling fortress of concrete and steel, its cracked facade streaked with soot and blood.
A few dead bodies lay scattered across the entrance, sprawled in awkward heaps—charred flesh, broken limbs, eyes staring blankly at the night sky. Ryn stepped over them without a glance, Elena kicked one aside with her boot, and the Vitalist flinched but followed, her silver-gray eyes darting away.
The prison should be in the basement, they thought—so they searched for a staircase, boots crunching over glass and debris until Elena spotted a rusted metal door half-hidden behind a collapsed wall. She yanked it open, hinges screaming, and they descended.
It was just a floor below—darkness swallowed them as they stepped onto the basement level, the air thick with damp rot and the metallic tang of rust. An entire floor of iron bars stretched out before them—cells lined the walls, shadows shifting behind the rods.
