Rory
I was only at the Sterling estate because Jarvis had promised his mother he'd pick up a box of old photo albums for some family archive project, and apparently "picking up a box" required backup in the form of a rookie who couldn't say no to him even now, three days after their almost-kiss had gotten interrupted by his own brother in a dining hall.
"Ten minutes," Jarvis had promised, already jogging up the massive front steps ahead of me. "In and out. My mom's not even home, it's just grab-and-go."
Ten minutes turned into forty the second we got inside, because the Sterling estate, it turned out, did not believe in simple storage solutions, and the box in question had apparently relocated itself somewhere deep in a wing of the house neither of us had ever had reason to explore. Jar
