'Ping.'
The sound was soft, almost trivial, yet it cut cleanly through the low hum of the room.
Fredhardt glanced down at his phone. For a heartbeat, his face remained impassive, then the corner of his mouth lifted, a knowing smile slowly curving into place. He turned toward Lucas, who sat across the table, shoulders squared, eyes locked onto a stack of reports as if the pages might confess something under sufficient scrutiny.
"They managed to get out," Fredhardt said lightly.
Lucas paused. The report lowered in his hands, and with it, some of the tension drained from his face. He leaned back into his chair, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"That's good," he said. Relief softened his voice. "Very good."
Fredhardt's smile didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened, edged with quiet intrigue. "And the information they obtained…" He tilted his head slightly. "It's more than I expected."
Lucas's brows rose. "Oh?"
