The report comes in softly, which is the first problem.
The junior guard does not burst into the command corridor or raise his voice or trip over urgency, he simply clears his throat and waits to be acknowledged, posture straight and expression composed in a way that would have been praised under any other circumstances. I notice him because he hesitates, just a fraction, as if he is deciding whether what he is about to say is worth interrupting the calm that has settled so deeply over the packhouse.
Adam gestures him forward. “Go on.”
“There was movement near the western storage annex,” the guard says. “Not an alarm. Just a pattern shift. Scent disturbance without a trail.”
Silence follows, not heavy and not tense, but orderly, like everyone in the room has collectively decided to slo
