Lucia reached the bedroom in seconds.
The door was closed. Locked. Exactly as she had left it.
She did not relax.
Her hand hovered over the biometric panel, pulse steady despite the cold spreading through her veins. Panic was a luxury she had trained herself out of years ago. Panic blurred assessment. Panic wasted time.
She scanned first.
Heartbeat monitor active. Oxygen levels normal. No spike in cortisol indicators. No abrupt movement recorded.
Alive. Asleep.
Lucia exhaled once, slow and controlled, then opened the door.
The room was unchanged. Low light. The security field is humming at its lowest audible frequency. Her son lay curled on his side, breathing evenly, unaware of the world's insistence on finding him.
Lucia crossed the room and placed two fingers gently at his wrist. Warm. Steady.
Only then did she allow herself to straighten up.
"Elena," Lucia said softly, keeping her voice low, "trace the message. Every layer."
