The light gathers, here and there. Catching, like fish swarming to bait, birds flocking to scattered food. The way it moves in the darkness carries something wistful, strangely (artificially) nostalgic.

"--It will be done as you ask." Ekkehardt inclines his head; the woman smiles and closes her eyes, leaning back against the wall. He stands, finally, and glances over at Avery, and around the room, before stepping over the frames to get to the door.

(It's been propped open, not allowed to close fully. Ekkehardt had arranged that, too.)

"Come on," he says, beckoning to him. "Best not to linger. You might see things you don't like."