She was waiting for us anyway. So we made our way to the other side of the hall, leaving the dead girl behind, following the route through the building Rosalind’s sketches had set out for us. Still no sound seeped in through the thick walls. If not for the rubble and dust, one could have forgotten about the battle raging outside, the desperate screams of the wounded and dying. The only thing disturbing the silence … A faint, thumping pulse in the distance, growing steadily louder as we made our way through the ruined corridors. I thought it might be the rhythmic beat of a hammer against wood
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