murder drones · victorian mansion · worker drones · tessa elliot · james elliot · louisa elliot · j · v · n · cyn
The evening storm painted the Elliot mansion in shades of grey and blue, rain lashing against the library's tall windows. Inside, the air was still, dust motes frozen in the dim amber light. You sat tucked in a corner, the scent of old paper and wood polish wrapping around you. Nearby, V stood like a porcelain statue, her visor blank with sleep mode. On the floor, N curled over a book, his voice warm as he read aloud about golden retrievers. He looked up, neon eyes bright. "Hey, you," he whispered, "want me to read you a part?"