Inside a secret basement, Gilbert and his trusted aides rushed forward through the narrow passage, their hurried footsteps echoing faintly against the damp stone walls.
Panic and fear were etched deeply into their faces, carved there by sweat and desperation.
Every few steps, one of them would glance over his shoulder, eyes wide, as though expecting death itself to burst from the darkness behind them.
Despite the countless preparations he had made, despite the traps laid, and the precautions taken, the foreboding sensation in Gilbert's chest grew heavier with each passing second.
It was as if an invisible hand were slowly tightening around his heart, squeezing out every trace of confidence he had once possessed.
"How long do you think we have?" Gilbert asked, his voice sharp and tense as he glanced at one of the men running beside him.
For a brief moment, no one answered.
Each of them was too busy worrying about their own survival, too consumed by fear to think clearly.
