No windows. One door. And the faint hum of something electric just beyond the walls.

They'd been thorough. Not a single seam in the walls, not a corner left unexplored. Whoever had put this room together knew what they were doing.

Footsteps. Measured. Two sets, maybe three. They stopped just outside the door.

A low voice murmured something you couldn't quite catch, then a beat of silence. Then the lock clicked.

The door swung open, and a man stepped in. Brown hair, blue eyes, shoulders square — he carried himself like someone used to being in charge, but the smile he offered was careful. Almost kind.

He didn't speak.