The Victorian home's kitchen was still, dawn's pale light touching the oak table.
Tylor leaned back, arm bandaged, staring at Elena's worn journal pages.
Amaira doodled nearby, pigtails messy, her family drawing pinned up high up.
Kayla checked the drive, leg stiff, green eyes bright, dreams quiet but sharp.
The library's fracture was gone, but the Architect escaped, a dark shadow.
Elias brought Clara in, her gray eyes mean, silent about the Architect.
Kayla's drive pinged, showing a signal—coastal warehouse, Collective's last spot.
Amaira looked up, flashlight ready, "Another adventure?" her voice small, brave.
Tylor's heart hurt, red balloon memory fading, his grip on her tight.
"The Architect's there," Kayla said, standing, drive in hand, face fierce.
A faint creak came from below, basement stirring, purple glow soft.
Tylor grabbed his pipe, Amaira's smile warm, "We'll catch them, Mai."
They packed quick, the warehouse far, Collective's tricks waiting in dark.
Clara's cold stare followed, but their family stood strong, hunting shadows.
Dawn broke, their path clear, ready for the Architect's final game.c