Gabriel stared for a long moment. Then stepped inside.
The room was already awake—barely.
Papers rustled, styluses tapped, a half-drunk mug of tea steamed near the edge of the central table. The staff looked halfway between war-ready and sleep-deprived.
Alexandra was pacing near the map board, muttering to herself about bribery brackets.
Irina sat curled in an armchair by the window, hair still damp from the morning wash, stylus tapping against her lip as she flipped through a rubric draft.
Julian had just arrived, barely settled into a chair, sleeves still rolled up and a notebook open but untouched. The only sign he was even awake was the mug in his hand, which read, DON'T SPEAK UNTIL PAGE THREE.
And Rafael stood off to the side—perfectly dressed, eyes wide, and absolutely not sure what he'd walked into.
Everyone looked up when Gabriel entered.
"You're late," Alexandra said, without looking up from her clipboard.
"I gave no set time," Gabriel replied.
