The cold draft in the ante-chamber carried the stench of scorched oil and static electricity.
Matron Bell remained motionless before Hook #000, her iron fingers still clutching the handle of Silas’s steel-bound notary briefcase.
The heavy boron-steel shackle of Dr. Tallow’s brass morgue padlock held the case fastened against the naval brass peg.
No matter how hard her hydraulic joints strained, the lock refused to shift.
Her charcoal wool cape trailed across the pine floorboards like a funeral shroud.
The 1964 Academy Charter allowed no exceptions for rank, title, or tenure.
Under the strict wording of Syllabus Clause M-302, she was an instructional officer caught red-handed with un-checked outerwear inside the examination zone.
Julian stepped forward, stopping three paces behind the entity’s left shoulder.
