Rex stepped into the house and hurried to his room and shut the door behind him with a soft click. The late afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting angled shadows on the floor as he toed off his shoes. He moved quietly, like someone tiptoeing through a memory. A sense of peace hung in the air, embracing him after the exhausting pace of the day.
But now wasn't the time for this.
He walked over to a corner beside a desk where his computer was placed. There, he knelt beside a locked drawer. With practiced care, he pulled out a worn leather pouch tucked beneath layers of old tax folders. Inside were the credentials: the USB security key, a laminated ID, and a small notepad containing login info, carefully written in the neat handwriting of the previous Rex.
