The gamelan music was so strange and out of place that, for a moment, everyone could only stand frozen, listening. The melody was soft, rhythmic, and soothing—the antithesis of the brutal world outside the building's walls. It wasn't a recording. The sound was clear and vibrant, as if being played live from somewhere inside the building.“Music?” Bima whispered, confusion and fear mixed on his face. “Who is playing music in the middle of the apocalypse?”“It’s a trap,” Andy hissed, paranoia taking over. “It has to be a trap to lure us in.”Satria said nothing. He signaled for everyone to move away from the door. He approached the slightly open door gap alone, his crowbar held tight against his chest. He didn't try to peek inside. Instead, he squatted and sniffed the air escaping the gap.There was no stench. No smell of corpses. What he smelled was a strange aroma—the smell of wet earth after rain, the scent of frangipani flowers, and a faint, sweet aroma of incense. A distinctly Bali