The guy needed to work on his priorities too—he wasn’t just using a shitty password, he was using it to protect ostensibly nothing. Each locked room they’d tried had nothing of value—just a series of empty labs and offices. There wasn’t a single valuable object in sight, magical or otherwise.
“No papers again” FPS observed aloud, peering into an empty wall cabinet.
If there had been valuables in these rooms, it was likely in the papers: the reports, the research. Nothing of use to the would-be-thieves but odd all the same. Odd especially because the rooms had clearly been in use, although clearly not recently. Chairs were left askew and lab equipment was scattered about. In some sort of break room they found rotten plates of food left out, some of it half eaten. To top it off, everything they found was covered in a thick layer of dust.
It was as if the rooms had been gutted for what they were worth, and then hastily abandoned and locked away to never be looked at again.
Suspicious. Unnerving. Tora’s sap ran cold thinking about it.
They explored the rest of the rooms, found more of the same. FPS made idle commentary. Tora said nothing. They reached the last room, found a hastily handwritten sign over it written in big red letters. Asuran script—completely unreadable, but the messaging was pretty clear.
“Someone doesn’t want us in here,” FPS said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.
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