Nasya's POV
"This smell is a bit similar to that thing, isn't it?" Matilda wondered.
I wondered too, but I didn't speak. Instead, I silently followed Elijah. After stepping out of the vehicle, Elijah had handed me a bulky white hazmat suit, its material rustling stiffly as I pulled it on. The suit clung awkwardly to my frame, the visor of the hood slightly fogging my peripheral vision. Once fully suited, we descended into the basement—a labyrinth of blindingly white corridors, each turn marked by yet another round of aggressive decontamination sprays that left my skin tingling beneath the protective layers.
Finally, after navigating what felt like an endless maze of identical hallways, we arrived at a door—pure white, unmarked, and ominously nondescript.
