Yeah, well. I was never much good at picking locks.

[ No patience. That's what Winston told her.

Ellie eases the door open, listening hard. There's the creak of hinges. The particular heavy silence of a settling house. Nothing even smells. Under her breath, she whispers: ] What the hell happened to these people?

[ The house looks so new. She's never been inside one that hasn't gone through twenty years of decay.

Ellie walks over to a wall covered in paintings and photographs, studying them and wondering how many of the people in them are still alive. They're so beautifully crisp. Everything in here is so fresh. She touches one of the frames reverently. ]

So this is what the world looked like, huh.