The corridor was silent. The Heart hummed somewhere far above. The man whose name was on this door was, at this exact moment, being processed by Wardens in a holding facility somewhere across the city, his hands cuffed, his composure intact, his future about to be decided by people who weren't on his side.
And his office was here.
Closed. Quiet. Holding whatever he'd left behind.
Raizen's hand drifted toward the handle.
The door wasn't locked. Raizen had expected resistance - a palm scanner, a code panel, something that would have given him a reason to walk away. There was nothing. Just an old brass handle, slightly tarnished, that turned smoothly under his hand and clicked the latch open with a soft, mechanical sound.
The door swung inward.
