"What were you doing till now, sir?"
Harris asked, his voice calm but edged with a faint suspicion as he eyed the old man standing in the middle of the room watching them.
The old man chuckled, a low, raspy sound that barely stirred the stillness. "Nothing, lad. Was just sitting, watching the news. Old folks like me—what else is there to do?" His wrinkled face creased into a smile, his half-closed eyes glinting with a hint of amusement beneath bushy white brows.
Harris nodded, but his gaze drifted, scanning the room. He stepped away, boots creaking on the warped floorboards, and approached Rhea, who leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, yawning behind her mask, hoping it would go unnoticed. "Take a look around," he said quietly. "Spot anything abnormal?"
Rhea's hazel eyes flashed with annoyance, barely concealed beneath her sleek black mask. "Isn't that your job?" she snapped, her tone sharp. "I'm here to fight things, not play detective. You're the brains—I'm the tool."
