Arik entered the waiting room with the piano, Mezos and Rex following behind him.
The room had been sealed so heavily that even the air felt restricted.
A translucent security field shimmered over the doorway after they crossed it, locking into place with a low ether hum. The wall panels dimmed, the surveillance wards shifted from passive to active recording, and the room's old climate system restarted with a faint pulse of blue light along the ceiling. George's taste lingered everywhere despite all the modern systems trying to make the room livable. Too much gold. Too much polished dark wood. Too many paintings selected by a man who thought inheritance and ownership were the same thing.
Rex stopped just inside the threshold and looked around with open disgust.
"I grew up near this man," he said. "How did I not notice how awful his furniture was?"
"You were distracted by survival," Mezos said.
"Valid."
The piano stood near the far wall.
