The room stretched long and narrow like a buried corridor, walls pressed in by the sheer density of what had been shoved and stacked into it.
Furniture wedged into open racks.
Buckets hanging on ropes.
Crates labeled in fading ink, some rotting at the edges from time and salt.
Objects were crammed in with no clear purpose, one atop another, pipes and lumber lashed together like forgotten scaffolds, coils of mesh fencing leaning sideways, barrels filled with unidentifiable clatter. Arthur's gaze swept through it all with a precision honed by eagerness and haste, the darkness no obstacle. His eyes pierced through the light-starved room with ease, taking in the entire stretch in one unbroken scan.
His breath slowed. There. Beneath two unmarked storage drapes and half a deconstructed rigging anchor, he found what he was looking for in seconds.
Still, he held back.
He waited for the old woman to catch up, for her to light the way. Let her do this her way.
