Midday.
The hub was active—but contained. Wagons still moved. Crates still loaded. Workers still called to each other across the yard. But the energy had changed. Quieter. More careful. Word spread quickly through the staging areas, the warehouse rows, the intake desks: The inspector wants a formal review.
Arthur didn't rush. He finished the report he was reviewing—a final check of the overnight volumes—then set his pen down. Vivian didn't hesitate. She had been waiting for this since the delegation arrived.
They walked to the administrative hall together. Not speaking. Not needing to.
The hall was a long stone building at the eastern edge of the hub—used for merchant disputes and contract signings. Today it had been commandeered. Inside: a long wooden table, polished by years of use. Ledgers stacked neatly at one end. Three Crown clerks already writing, their pens scratching in unison. Inspector Halven seated at the center, a closed folder in front of him.
