The next day wasn't any better in the offices beneath Artemis Tower.
In the center of the bullpen, Alistair Triste perched on a chair at the head of a large conference desk, presenting a stark contrast to the surrounding order, buried under layers of white papers. Stacks of weight logs, calibration sheets, and inspection schedules were spread across the polished surface like a paper fortress.
Jadelyn Roscoe walked into the workspace carrying two cups of coffee, her boots tapping softly as she approached the desk. She noticed the focused set of his shoulders and the dark ink circles drawn around a single line on the topmost page.
"Hey Tairy, you found another number that refused to cooperate," she said, setting his cup down right beside the messy piles.
"Or not," she added as she leaned over to give the documents a once over.
Alistair did not look up immediately, but he slid the technical report across the dark laminate toward her with a smooth flick of his wrist.
