Alexander's office was colder than most places in the palace, not in temperature, but in design. All clean lines, dark stone, and towering shelves filled with war records, Shadow files, and documents marked with more ink seals than any civilian clearance would ever see.
Irina sat cross-legged on the edge of the secondary desk, her slippers kicked off unceremoniously under the table, a tablet in her lap, and a frown between her brows. She tapped a stylus against her chin, then made a note in the margin of a shift list.
"This one doesn't match," she said, flicking her screen toward him. "Delivery from the East Gate was marked at 14:10. But the gate logs show it came through at 14:52. Unless the crate was delivered by flying horse—"
"Or someone backdated the record," Alexander replied, not looking up from his own file. "Cross-check the runner ID. If it matches one of the missing kitchen aids, we've got our first clear falsification."
Irina made a face. "That's the fifth one today."
