He had stepped into a secret World War II bunker, perfectly preserved under the riverbed. The air was heavy and still, like a tomb of history.
The room was filled with metal shelves. On them sat rusted tins, glass bottles, and stacks of documents that had remained dry for eighty years.
As he walked further, he found sleeping cots lined up against the wall. It looked as though the inhabitants had simply walked out and never returned.
On a small wooden table in the center of the room, a single notebook lay open. The handwriting was still legible, and the last entry stopped mid-sentence.
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