Salvar stepped out of the elevator into the soft, fading light of the late afternoon. Before him, the two children trailed like ducklings, their small feet carrying them across the lobby and toward the glass doors that led to the open ground beyond. He walked behind them, his pace unhurried, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets.
The doors swung open, and the world expanded. The playground sprawled before them, a familiar kingdom of swings and slides and climbing frames, its metal structures gleaming faintly in the golden hour. The children needed no direction. They had been here many times before. Their feet knew the path. Milo broke into a run, his laughter trailing behind him like a ribbon. Xavier followed at his own pace, deliberate and composed, as though he were not a child approaching a playground but a scholar approaching a lecture hall.
