"Of course you would've," Luther says, and there's an equal echoing fondness in his voice. He tends to take the most direct approach -- front door or just outright smash through a window, while Diego is better at slipping in the back, skulking in the shadows. (When Diego's not catching some of the contagious Hargreeves stupid and smashing through front doors himself, at least.)

Their voices echo strangely in that empty, hollowed-out house, and he can hear their conversation bouncing around all that marble. It's hard to conceive of this place as theirs, but then again, Luther's still not used to any place that isn't the manor or the lunar base.

"Where to first—" he begins, then remembers that Diego already must've seen all of this, and then the dawning realisation seems to sweep over both of them at the same time: "Claiming bedrooms."




He could be mature about this. Number One. Calm and measured team leader, dignified, strolling through the place and discussing who should have what.

But Luther immediately starts running.