The five descended from the balcony and headed into the first tunnel on the left side of the area.


    As they entered the vast passageway, they were greeted by rows of empty cells on either side.


    At least, that’s what they assumed, as the oppressive darkness concealed the farthest corners of the cells.


    The only illumination came from torches fixed near the cell doors, but their flickering flames offered little relief, barely piercing the thick shadows.


    Azrael swallowed hard, his throat tight as he trailed behind the group. An uneasy feeling coiled in his stomach, an ominous sensation he couldn’t shake.


    What troubled him the most was the absence of any smell, nothing at all. It was as if his sense of smell had been snuffed out entirely.


    ''I can do this,'' he thought, his fists clenched despite his queasy stomach. ''I’ll escape this hell, and I’ll save everyone here.''


    After what felt like an eternity of trudging through the murky passage, they finally reached its end. A simple gray door stood before them, stark against the gloom.


    Without hesitation, Creselya stepped forward and unlocked it, using a key tied to her wrist and hidden beneath her long sleeves. The group hadn’t even noticed it was there.


    Creselya entered first, holding the door open. The room beyond was stark and orderly, painted entirely in shades of gray. A bronze nameplate above a desk read, "Sec. Creselya."


    To the left, there was a brown sofa accompanied by a small table, a modest green plant perched neatly on top.


    The walls were cluttered with various papers and documents, some pinned up, others taped in a chaotic fashion. Among them were photographs of unfamiliar faces, some marked with bold red X’s.


    Creselya spread her arms in a welcoming gesture, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Welcome to my office,” she said, her tone smooth but commanding. “This will be the place where you’ll always report.”


    With measured steps, she made her way to the desk and settled in the chair behind it, motioning to the two wooden chairs facing her.


    “Take a seat,” she invited, her voice even.


    Mika and Jarred exchanged uneasy glances before obeying, pulling the chairs closer. Carl and Azrae decided for the sofa, its cushions stiff beneath them.


    A moment later, Creselya pulled out several sheets of paper, placing them deliberately on the desk. The faint rustle of parchment filled the silence.


    “This,” she began, gesturing to the stack, “is a contract.”


    Mika hesitated before picking up one of the papers. Her brows knitted as she skimmed through the text, a vague sense of discomfort brewing within her. Creselya watched her closely, her eyes sharp yet composed.


    “I think you already have an idea of what this is about,” Creselya said, her voice edged with expectation.


    Mika lowered the paper and met her gaze, nodding hesitantly.


    “Good,” Creselya continued smoothly. “Now, complete what needs to be filled out. It’s only one page, and the questions are straightforward. It shouldn’t take you long.”


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    As Mika and Jarred bent over their papers, Creselya’s gaze shifted to Carl and Azrael, who were distractedly studying the pinned documents on the walls. Their curiosity hadn’t gone unnoticed.


    “Come here,” Creselya murmured, her tone soft but unmistakably firm.


    Startled, the two exchanged looks before rising in unison and approaching her desk.


    Azrael stood behind Mika, and Carl behind Jarred, as if instinctively taking positions of silent support.


    Creselya explained the contract to them once more, her voice unwavering. Both nodded in understanding, their expressions a mixture of resignation and resolve.


    With that, the four of them focused on their contracts, answering its simple yet unnervingly official questions.


    Name, age, sex, signature, it all felt routine, but the mention of salary and the duration of their work hinted at something far more binding.


    After the group finished filling out the contracts, Creselya offered a faint smile. She carefully collected the papers, stacking them one by one before securing them inside the drawer of her desk.


    The silence hung heavy in the room until Creselya broke it. “Alright,” she began, her voice crisp. “I’ll now assign each of you a position for your work.”


    Before she could continue, Carl, with a playful smirk, blurted out, “I hope I don’t get stuck with a boring job like filing papers or handling documents.”


    Creselya raised an eyebrow, her expression caught between amusement and surprise. “Wow,” she said dryly, leaning back in her chair. “I’m impressed. You guessed the exact job I had in mind for you.”


    Carl’s mouth fell open, disbelief plastered across his face. Meanwhile, Creselya’s smile widened, and out of the corner of his eye, Carl noticed Mika’s lips twitch into the faintest, almost imperceptible smile.


    “W-wait, what?” Carl stammered, his voice rising in protest. “Why? Why would you give me something as dull as taking care of papers and documents? I can do way more than that, why saddle me with a boring job?”


    Creselya calmly closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “Well,” she said after a pause, her tone deliberate, “I have a feeling that this is the kind of work you’d excel at.”


    Carl flailed his hands in an exaggerated gesture of defense. “No, no, no! You’ve got it all wrong. That’s the opposite of what I’m good at. Come on, give me something challenging, something that lets me move my whole body!”


    Shrugging, Creselya replied with an air of indifference, “You’ll still be moving around, delivering documents from the ground floor to my office. It’s an important job, you know.”


    Carl opened his mouth to argue further, but Mika cut him off sharply. “Enough, Carl,” she said, her voice firm and calm. “We need this job. Complaining about what position we’re assigned isn’t the right way to start. We should be grateful they even hired us.”


    Creselya tilted her head slightly, an amused smile gracing her lips as she observed Mika’s maturity. Meanwhile, Carl huffed in frustration, crossing his arms as he stomped over to the sofa.


    He flopped down with a heavy sigh, muttering under his breath, “Tch. I could do better than any of them anyway.”


    Azrael shot him an awkward, apologetic smile, unsure of how to defuse the tension.


    After a brief pause, Creselya’s authoritative voice filled the room again. “As for the rest of you, your work will be here, down below.”


    Mika’s head tilted slightly, her expression puzzled. “Down here?” she repeated, her tone questioning.


    Creselya’s smile remained steady as she nodded. “Yes. As you can see, all of you are well-suited to handle the responsibilities down here.”


    Mika frowned, crossing her arms as her curiosity deepened. “How? How do you even know we’re qualified for this? Aside from Carl, of course,” she added with a pointed glance.


    Creselya chuckled softly and leaned forward on her desk. “I have a rather peculiar ability,” she explained, her tone almost playful. “Whenever I meet someone, I can sense if they’re a good person toward children, the elderly, animals, you name it. It’s not exactly useful in combat, but occasionally, it comes in handy.”


    Though Creselya’s words didn’t ring false, something about her unsettled Mika.


    That uncanny smile, coupled with those crimson eyes, felt like a veil concealing something sinister, something beyond their comprehension.


    Mika’s instincts, normally razor-sharp when it came to people, were eerily quiet around this woman.


    She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more beneath Creselya’s polished exterior, a hidden horror, waiting to emerge.