The iron door slammed shut behind Damon with a heavy sound, completely muffling any trace of the outside world, as if he had crossed an invisible border between two distinct realities. The air inside was denser, laden with a metallic scent mixed with spices, leather, and something slightly sweet, creating an atmosphere that not only concealed intentions but seemed to fuel them.
Before he could even take a few steps, a hooded figure approached silently, offering him an object with precise, rehearsed movements, as part of a ritual repeated countless times. Damon accepted without hesitation, already anticipating what it represented.
A mask.
But not an ordinary mask.
