The leather was dark and slick, mapped with the identical tread of the mud by the bed.

A heavy silence filled the room, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of the rain against the windowpane.

“Nice boots, Luca,” Marcus said, his voice flat and dangerously calm.

Luca did not flinch or draw back his foot.

He merely looked down at the light, then back up at Marcus with a cold, slow smile.

“I was outside checking the perimeter guards,” Luca said, his tone casual. “The storm is getting worse.”

“The mud inside this room is dry on the edges, but wet in the center,” Dr. Voss said, pointing a gloved finger toward the floor.

She did not look up from the dark puddle of liquid.

“This print was made within the last ten minutes,” she added.

“Are you accusing me of something, Doctor?” Luca asked, taking a step toward her.

Sofia moved quickly, placing herself between them, the metal flashlight trembling in her hand.

“You were in here, Luca,” Sofia said, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and fear. “Before any of us came up.”