And I don’t turn.
“She comes first,” I say.
The words settle into something final.
“Understood,” the system replies.
I move faster.
The corridors narrow, the architecture funneling movement toward the central chamber, and I can hear it now—voices ahead, sharper, more urgent, the quiet of the estate breaking into something closer to panic.
“Secure the perimeter!” someone shouts.
“She’s still inside!” another voice answers.
Good.
That’s where I’m going.
I reach the final door and don’t slow as I hit it, the panel cracking under the force as it opens, the room beyond expanding instantly into view?—
And there she is.
Stacy stands at the center of it, exactly where I knew she would be, her posture composed, her expression stoic in a way that tells me she’s already accounted for everything except this moment.
Lorens is already moving.
Backing away.
Retreating toward an exit behind him, his composure shattered now, replaced by something closer to fear.
“You—” he starts, his voice breaking slightly as he looks at me.
I don’t answer him.
I don’t even fully register him.
My focus locks onto her.
“You’re late,” she says, her voice steady, though there’s something under it that wasn’t there before.
“I had to make an entrance,” I reply, stepping forward.
Behind her, Lorens turns and runs.
The movement registers.
The decision presents itself again.
I don’t take it.
“Seal the exits!” one of the guards shouts from somewhere behind me.
Irrelevant.
“He’s getting away,” Stacy says, her gaze flicking briefly toward the direction Lorens fled before returning to me.
“I know,” I reply.
