Marrok stood at the end of the eastern corridor, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on the door at the far end of the hall.
The time on his tablet read 13:15. Past noon.
In the years Marrok had served as the Captain of the Black House personal security team, he had never known Lucian to be away from his desk past nine in the morning. Not once. The Director was a person of absolute, rigid administrative discipline. Even after a sector raid, or during the height of the border disputes with the lower tier families, Lucian would be seated in his high-back leather chair before the sun fully cleared the city skyline.
Yet, the biometric scanner on the master suite door hadn't logged an exit since 09:42.
