Two hours passed beneath the muted sky of Crownville Hill, yet the property of Alistair Veylor remained silent, unyielding, almost mocking.Nathan and Darren had circled the estate repeatedly. Stone walls, sculpted hedges, polished marble surfaces—everything looked immaculate, preserved, and strangely untouched by time. Still, no entrance appeared. No seam. No mechanism. Nothing responded, no matter how aggressively Darren tested the structure.“This is bullshit,” Darren snapped, kicking a decorative stone near the garden path. “There has to be something.”Nathan said nothing. His gaze moved slowly across the architecture, searching for patterns rather than force. He had already reviewed every clue from Alistair’s notes—symbols, phrases, coordinates, fragmented memories triggered by the Aegis Tracking Node. None aligned with this place.It felt wrong.Not impossible—wrong.As though the house itself rejected the approach they were taking.Darren’s patience evaporated. He stormed towar