The refuge was eerily silent, the air thick with an otherworldly stillness that set both Gregory and Sicily on edge. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting long shadows that seemed to shift with every breath.
"Are you sure about this?" Sicily whispered, her voice barely audible as she stood close to Gregory. Her hand hovered near the hilt of her dagger, the blade ready should they need it.
Gregory's eyes remained locked on the old chest he had just uncovered, its ornate carvings almost too pristine for something hidden in such a decrepit place. "No," he admitted, his voice low and grim. "But if this is what I think it is, we can't leave it behind."