A Wall of Junk
The beam revealed a barricade of stacked furniture pressed tightly against the door—couches overturned, cabinets jammed lengthwise. Whoever had arranged it wanted the entry sealed, either to keep something inside or prevent intrusion. “Definitely intentional,” Morgan muttered grimly. He pulled himself carefully through the frame, boots crunching on broken shards as he landed heavily inside. His light swept once more, revealing dust, shadows, and the unmistakable blockade piled before the double doors.
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