"You finally found her."
The Architect's voice slid through the engine room like smoke.
Warm.
Calm.
Almost pleased.
That was the part Allison hated most.
Villains who screamed were easy to understand.
Villains who smiled and spoke gently while a child cried in front of them?
Those were the ones who made her skin crawl.
Lucian stopped so abruptly that Allison nearly ran into his back.
Every instinct in him had been pulling toward Clara, toward the tiny girl tied to the chair beneath the white spotlight, her face wet with tears, her curls damp from sweat and fear.
But the moment the Architect spoke, the room changed.
It was no longer a rescue.
It was a trap.
Clara shook her head violently, crying harder.
"No," she sobbed. "Don't come closer!"
Lucian's jaw clenched.
His voice came out low, controlled only because he was forcing it to be.
"Clara, look at me."
The little girl's eyes darted toward him.
Wide.
Terrified.
"You're okay," Lucian said.
