He made a small sound that might have been a laugh if he'd let it grow up. "Right," he said, his voice faintly rough but amused. "Then do me the honor of setting the pace."
Lira turned slightly, the dim light tracing the edge of her jawline. "Near people, I go first. In dead space, you do. Your ghost stays behind both of us." Her tone was steady—practical—but there was warmth beneath it, the kind that came from knowing someone well enough to joke about danger.
Mikhailis smirked and tilted his head toward the small blue glimmer half-hidden in the shadows. The lens pulsed faintly.
"Good," Mikhailis murmured, pushing the door just wide enough to let them slip through. "You were never a good conversationalist anyway."
