Jack proceeds carefully, electricity dancing at his fingertips. He's had the same thought as Sinclair about the open doors.

He doesn't pay a lot of mind to the butterflies; maybe someone was trying to brighten up the place. Some of the graffiti does make him flash a quick grin, though. Particularly the one about Andrew Ryan's tiny unsatisfying genitals.

(The word 'penis' is hilarious when you're three.)

Then something gives him pause.

With all the junk and broken mess on the floor, wood, water, shrapnel... their own footsteps aren't exactly silent. But still. There should only be two sets of them.

Jack stops moving, and glances at Sinclair to see if he's heard it too.