The elevator hummed softly as it carried them upward, its mirrored walls reflecting the faint gold of the evening light.
Chana stood at the front, hands folded behind his back, eyes fixed on the ascending floor numbers as if willing them to move faster. Beside him, Lord Three lounged against the rail, mask angled down just enough to catch his reflection in the polished steel.
"You're unusually quiet, sir." Zeref remarked. His tone was casual, but the words lingered in the small space like smoke.
Chana didn't look at him. "Quiet is safer when certain ears are near."
"If you're talking about the people upstairs, you'll find they hear much more than they should."
The elevator stopped with a muted chime. As the doors slid open, the faint scent of cedar and machine oil spilled in.
A long corridor stretched ahead, lined with abstract paintings where circuitry patterns bled into splashes of color, the kind of art that never quite decided whether it was human or machine.
