—until a step on the floor, a silhouette filling the doorway, behind Diego's back where he's working on the backdoor out to the garden.

Luther isn't exactly made for light and discreet stealth, even less so since his change, but this house isn't the aged creaking weathered thing that the old Hargreeves manor was. It's new enough that its floorboards don't whine with each step, announcing the passage of each family member.

And here's Diego, and there's that familiar black outfit: laughable only for how it had reminded Luther of an Academy knock-off, a discount version of what Reginald had fitted them with.

He clears his throat. "What do you think you're doing?"