Old Mrs. Covington stood firm in the courtyard, her frail body somehow commanding the entire space. She reached out her hand to Lyra.
"Come, dear," she said, her voice gentle yet authoritative. "You belong inside with family, not out here with these wolves."
Lyra hesitated, glancing at Percival. His slight nod was all she needed. She walked to the elderly woman's side, careful not to lean on her despite the gentle tug on her arm.
"This is ridiculous," Penelope huffed, crossing her arms. "Percival, you can't possibly—"
"I can and I will," Percival cut her off, voice like steel. "Grandmother, let me help you both inside."
He stepped forward, taking his grandmother's arm with practiced care while placing his other hand on the small of Lyra's back. The touch was light but deliberate.
"You can't just walk away!" Penelope shrieked. "These security guards—"
"Are fired," Percival finished without looking back. "All four of them. Their belongings will be sent to their homes."
