Lucas didn't say much as they walked.
The manor was quieter now. Not in sound—but in mood. Like the walls had absorbed the day and decided to keep the volume low. The lights dimmed just slightly behind them, sensors mapping each step with soft, silent precision.
They moved past the tactical wing, through an older hallway Ava hadn't noticed before—lined with framed photographs. Some faded. Some cracked. All untouched.
Lucas didn't look at them.
He walked ahead, one hand in his coat pocket, the other brushing faintly along the edge of the stone railing. His gait wasn't rushed. But it wasn't relaxed either.
Ava followed without asking.
After everything—the sync, the kill order, the kitchen-quiet that followed—this felt like the part where something was supposed to end. Or begin. Or both.
They stopped outside a wide double door, clean metal reinforced with brushed wood. No sensors. No panel.
Lucas keyed it manually, drawing an old brass key from his pocket.
