Kalugal turned to him. "I will compensate him for any repairs or damages and more." He lifted his face to the security camera above the door. "You hear that? We need to come in because we are not safe out here. I'll pay for a new door and its installation."
The first lock yielded to Kalugal's strength with barely a whisper of protest. Then the second, then the third. Each one had been quality hardware, but nothing that could stop an immortal determined to enter.
The fourth lock gave way, then the fifth. Kalugal grasped the handle and looked back at them. "Move to the side. He might be in there and shoot first."
They nodded as one, weapons appearing in the hands of those who carried them. Din moved closer to Fenella, shielding her with his body.
The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing darkness beyond. No alarms sounded, no traps sprang. Just silence and the musty smell of enclosed space mixed with something else—stone dust and oil, the scent of a workshop.
Kalugal entered first, followed by the rest in a practiced formation. The entrance led to a narrow corridor that sloped downward, carved directly into the bedrock. Modern LED strips had been mounted along the walls, providing dim but adequate lighting.
"This passage isn't part of the original tomb." Din ran his hand along the wall. "This tunnel was carved much later. See the tool marks? Modern equipment."
They descended perhaps twenty feet before the corridor opened into a larger space. Kalugal found a light switch, and suddenly the room blazed with illumination.
Din's breath caught.
It was indeed a workshop, but unlike any he'd expected. Traditional tools mixed with modern equipment—ancient chisels alongside electric grinders, weathered wooden benches next to a new ventilation system. Shelves lined the walls, holding blocks of various stones, bottles of pigments, and reference books in multiple languages.
But it was the works in progress that drew the eye. Figurines in various stages of completion covered every available surface. Some were roughly carved, barely more than shaped stone. Others were nearly finished, awaiting only final details or touches of paint. The style was unmistakable—the same flowing lines, the same attention to proportion, the same indefinable quality that made them seem almost alive.
"Look at this," Jasmine called from across the room. She stood before a wall covered in photographs and sketches. Not ancient drawings, but modern photos printed on regular paper. They showed figurines from multiple angles, some of which Din recognized from museums, while others he'd never seen before.
"He's documenting his work," Kyra said wonderingly. "Keeping track of where they end up."
Fenella moved among the sculptures like someone in a trance, her hands hovering over them but not quite touching. "The energy in here is incredible."
