In the dead of the night, Marisol finds herself wandering through an unfamiliar wing of the packhouse, the corridors dimly lit and lined with old, dusty decorations hanging on the walls. Dust danced in the air, casting eerie shadows on the worn-out walls. The atmosphere was different from the pristine sections of the pack house that she’d slowly begun to grow used to. Intrigued yet unsettled, she ventures deeper into the unexplored territory, guided only by the pale moonlight seeping through ...