The entrance to the intelligence section had been built into the outer wall of the military district, placed so messengers and operatives could reach it directly from the road without passing through the main command structure. Fewer people moving through meant fewer chances for anyone to notice them.
The door itself revealed nothing, plain timber, no markings. One guard nearby in a position ordinary enough that most people would assume he watched some storage room or supply access.
Batu stepped through the doorway and immediately felt the temperature drop. Rooms used for records and sealed correspondence always held cold longer than the streets outside, and the autumn air lingered in places like this.
Leather containers. Treated felt. Ink. Stone dust from stylus sharpening. Enough writing materials to leave a mineral taste in the air.
