Scene One: Routing Anomalies

Registry House, Western Wing Annex. 08:34.

The blank folder sat on Caldra’s desk like a polite insult.

She hadn't opened it again. No point. The note was still inside, still written in a handwriting she recognized from an older case—a sealed case. The handwriting had belonged to a man who was officially erased.

She tapped the folder once with her pen, then set the pen aside. Not one of her usual ones. A loaner. She didn’t trust it.

Cassel hovered near the door, coat half-on, like he wasn’t sure if he was meant to stand guard or confess something.

“Routing ledger,” Caldra said.

He jumped, then scurried to the side cabinet.

She adjusted her spectacles, eyes narrowed at the inbox tube on the wall. Something had been delivered this morning. She hadn’t opened it yet. Not while the Cold Room folder was still breathing.

Cassel returned with the routing ledger—thick, red-tagged, and riddled with enough graphite entries to power a blackmail circuit.

“Here.” He placed it gently.

Caldra opened to the relevant entry.

Document ID: A-12.9-A Validation Chain: Dept. 3A > Clerk 21B > Registrar H. Volstein > Furnace Routing (intercepted)

She stared at the name.

“Volstein’s dead,” Cassel said helpfully.

“Mm.”

“Like... officially dead. He was sealed in the wall.”

“He was not sealed. He was collapsed under three floors of iron culling sheets.”

Cassel blinked. “That’s somehow worse.”

“It’s also dated six years after his death.” She traced the graphite signature. It was perfect. Too perfect. No variance. No hesitation. As if someone had practiced.

“Forgery?”

“If it is, they knew his signing loop. That was never publicly documented.”

She flipped to the registrar seal imprint.

“See that?”

Cassel leaned in. “It’s inverted.”

“Slightly. Enough to pass a casual check. Not enough to pass mine.”

Caldra reached for her file drawer. Opened it. Paused.

There was a second folder inside.

She hadn’t put it there.

And it was labeled with her own handwriting.

Scene Two: The Folder Within

Registry House, Western Wing Annex. 08:42.

She didn’t speak. Just stared.

Cassel shifted beside her. "Another one?"

Caldra pulled the drawer wider. The folder was thin, stamped with a Department 7A routing mark—and a red wax seal she hadn’t used in four years.

She broke it.

Inside: a single page.

Typed. Time-stamped. Logged under her own clearance ID.

"I never filed this," she said.

Cassel leaned over her shoulder.

“But it’s your clearance code.”

“And my routing signature.”

“But you just said you didn’t—”

“I didn’t.”

She turned the page over.

There was another note.

This one wasn’t typed. It was scrawled in ink she recognized.

"Tell the boy to check the mail chute. The real mistake is there."

Cassel blinked. “Is that about me, or…?”

Caldra stood. Walked to the tube. Popped the latch.

One envelope.

Cassel’s name. Her handwriting. Her wax seal.

She turned slowly.

"Cassel. When exactly did you start working here?"

Scene ends.