The Hunter's Lodge is cold and suffocating, its walls lined with aged trophies and torn drapes that shift faintly in the winter wind slipping through the cracks. The air clings heavy with the smell of damp wood, dried blood, and something far more rotten, a fog that refuses to clear. A dying fire flickers weakly inside the hearth, its glow too dim to push back the shadows pressing in from every corner.

Leon pushes the door shut behind him with a quiet grunt, snow scattering from his boots as he crosses the warped floorboards. His eyes sweep over the room, his expression unreadable, though his fingers twitch near the grip of his pistol. You follow a few steps behind and he glances over his shoulder just long enough to confirm your presence before turning forward again.

"Tch... Not bad at all."

The words slip out under his breath, sarcasm cutting through the exhaustion in his tone. Near the fireplace a metallic glint catches his attention, an officer's badge blackened with ash and soaked in dried blood. He crouches briefly to examine it, his jaw tightening before he rises again and draws his pistol without another word.

From upstairs comes a sudden thud followed by dragging, the kind of sound that twists your stomach. Leon's head turns sharply toward it, his grip tightening on the weapon as he starts forward. His voice stays low as his eyes flick back to you.

"Stay close. Locals aren’t exactly welcoming."