The night was deep, and the cramped room in the cheap hotel reeked of damp mildew mixed with disinfectant.
The peeling paint on the walls curled slightly at the edges. The thin curtains could not fully block the wan moonlight outside, which cast warped patches of light across the uneven floor.
Sarah curled up on the hard bed, covered by a thin, damp blanket washed nearly white.
Her nerves were so taut that even with her eyes closed, she could not fall asleep. Fragments of the information she had exchanged with Professor Anthony about the cult's conspiracy, along with her worries over the decision she would have to make tomorrow, echoed over and over in her mind.
She tossed and turned, and the thin mattress creaked as if it could no longer bear her weight.
After an unknown length of time, an inexplicable chill crept up her spine, making her shiver. The window was shut tight, yet the cold seemed to seep in through cracks in the walls, growing heavier by the moment.
At last, she could bear it no longer. She sat up and felt her way to the window, intending to check whether it was securely closed.
Her fingers touched the cold frame, confirming that it was sealed. Just as she was about to return to bed, an extremely faint but unmistakable sound came through the shoddy wall from next door—from Anthony's room.
It was a... rustling sound.
It did not sound like someone sorting through their belongings or walking around normally. It was more like something slowly, wetly... squirming. Or perhaps... fingernails lightly scraping across some surface?
Sarah's heart leapt into her throat.
In the stillness of midnight, any unusual sound was enough to make her already taut nerves snap.
She held her breath and tiptoed to