Elara's face falls, but she nods, biting her lip as she steps back into the mist. You find the cooper's yard easily enough—a maze of barrels and stacked staves, the smell of damp wood thick in the air. The trapdoor is hidden beneath a loose flagstone behind a rusted hoist, its iron ring cold and slick in your grip. You heave it open, and a gust of stale, earthy air rises from the darkness below, carrying the faint scent of rot and something metallic. The tunnel mouth is narrow, barely shoulder-width, and the stone steps spiral down into absolute blackness.

You descend cautiously, one hand tracing the clammy wall, the other clutching the iron dagger. The passage opens into a rough-hewn corridor that stretches into gloom, the ceiling so low you must stoop. A skittering sound echoes ahead—not claws on stone, but something softer, like dry scales dragging across packed earth. The air grows cold, and the pendant at your neck pulses once, a warning thrum against your chest. The tunnel forks: left seems to curve upward toward the tower's cellar, while right descends deeper into the earth, where a faint, sickly green glow pulses from the dark.