Tucked behind a false wall of weathered stone, accessible only by a hidden lever disguised as a loose brick, lies the hideout. Moss softens its entrance, and ancient ivy drapes over the camouflaged door, blending seamlessly with the forest floor. Inside, the air is cool and still, smelling faintly of damp earth and old paper. A single, shielded lantern casts minimal light on shelves holding maps, spare tools, and a well-worn journal. Every sound is muffled; every footprint erased. This sanctuary exists only for those who know precisely where—and how—to look, a silent refuge from prying eyes and the chaos beyond its concealed threshold.
