The gravitational pull that gathered through those narrow interior passages does not release upon entering this room but rather redistributes itself across a wider plane, the way the high desert light around Las Cruces stretches across open ground after moving through a canyon, and here the ceiling height answers that shift with an expansiveness that makes the stone hearth wall feel less like a feature and more like a geological event anchoring the entire western elevation. What stayed compressed in Largo now breathes laterally, the same white oak flooring running continuous but the joinery widening its plank format as if the wood itself understands the room has changed its argument. The hand-troweled plaster overhead carries a warmth that only registers because of how much cooler the stone reads beside it, and that tension between surface temperatures is precisely the kind of material conversation that holds a space together without announcing itself. Something in the way the sightlines extend toward the rear grounds suggests this room is not the destination but the threshold to whatever Lawton will demand of the sequence next.