Sheila, Edith, and Felix waited inside one of the central structure's smaller records rooms.
The room had not been important enough to restore properly yet, but it had become useful through necessity. Old shelves leaned against the walls, some empty and some stacked with recovered records that had been sorted into rough categories by Felix's increasingly cramped handwriting.
A narrow table occupied the center, its surface crowded with loose parchment, the Command Log, charcoal sticks, sharpened writing tools, a half-broken inkstone, and a few weighted scraps used to keep older pages from curling. Dust still clung to the upper corners, and one wall bore a crack that Edith had already marked as stable but worth watching.
