Randell Belmont's eyes caught the light with a faint, calculating gleam as his attention drifted toward the East Gate.
There, Lara stood, wholly absorbed in conversation with Amelia, as if the rest of the world had faded into irrelevance.
A few paces behind her, Ares lingered in silence—rigid, watchful, a living sentinel whose presence alone drew an invisible boundary around her.
"Why not?" the old man murmured, his voice low but resolute, carrying the quiet weight of decision. "I am no longer young. It would be… practical to have someone accompany me whenever I come here."
Philip Hardy's face lit up instantly, seizing the opportunity.
"That's excellent news, Sir Randell. If it suits you, I can arrange accommodations—one of the premium modular residences. You won't have to endure the constant travel."
