“…misaligned… figures don’t match… incompetent—” His words snapped like whips, muffled by the door. Then, the solid thud of papers slammed shut.
“He found it,” Evelyne breathed.
Beside her, Vesena’s mouth curved just slightly. “Of course he did.”
A pause. The heavy beat of boots pacing. Then the sound grew louder, heading for the door. The latch clicked. The door sighed open. Ravik muttered something sharp about the archives, then the door shut again, harder this time. His stride carried away, fast and clipped. The echo of it lingered long after he was gone.
Her chest felt too small for her heart, each beat like a fist trying to punch its way out.
“Now?” Evelyne whispered.
“Wait.”
Evelyne pressed her fingers into her palm, forcing stillness. She hadn’t eaten. Her stomach had knotted itself hours ago, and now it churned with something between dread and disbelief.
The corridor was silent, save for the soft spit of the torch.
“How long before he comes back?”
Vesena tilted her head, calculating. “Half an hour, if the Archivist argues. Longer if he finds more to correct.”
“Not long enough,” Evelyne muttered.
“It’s all we’ll get.” Vesena crouched, pressing her ear to the door. A long silence stretched, Evelyne’s gaze darting up and down the empty corridor until it felt like the very walls might sprout eyes.
Finally, Vesena straightened, her voice a whisper of certainty. “Empty.”
Evelyne’s hand brushed the doorframe, grounding herself in the cold wood.
“Then let’s not waste it.”
They slipped through the narrow door into the corridor. The hinges groaned faintly, and both women froze, listening. Nothing stirred but the draft rolling in from the high windows.
The hall stretched ahead of them, shadows pooling between the torch brackets. Evelyne’s gaze darted left, right, searching the silence for movement. She gathered skirts in one hand and approached the door to Ravik’s office.
Vesena tested the latch. A click, stubborn and final. Locked.
Without a word, she slid her hand into her apron pocket and drew out a small leather package. She unrolled selecting a pair of slim picks.
The seconds crawled. Evelyne felt sweat gather at the nape of her neck despite the cold. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.
Then—click. Another.
The door shifted with a soft sigh. Vesena looked over her shoulder, calm as dusk—but her fingers flexed once before she stilled them. Evelyne gave a short nod. She didn’t trust her voice.
They moved inside.
The air in Ravik’s office was warmer than the corridor, but Evelyne barely felt it. Her heart was thudding hard enough to drown everything else out. She crossed the threshold and pulled the door shut behind her.
The room looked exactly as she imagined it would.
Modest. Methodical. Trimmed down to the essentials, like the man himself. The furniture was polished but plain—dark wood, iron fixtures, nothing decorative unless one counted the lone map pinned to the far wall. Even that had been carefully aligned with the edge of the cabinet beneath it.
There were no personal touches. No family portraits, not even a dent in the rug to suggest he paced when thinking. Every object had its place, and more importantly Ravik would know if something was moved.
Vesena drifted toward the desk, quiet as a whisper. Evelyne took the bookshelves. She scanned titles—military doctrine, trade route assessments, historical analyses. Her fingers were trembling, which made everything harder. She pulled one volume, checking for tucked notes, loose pages. Nothing.
She glanced toward the door. Every sound felt like a death sentence.
