The Carrara marble under Julian’s boots felt unnaturally slick, like chilled lard skimmed from a municipal boiler.
Across thirty feet of open terrace, sixty Spire Audit Legionnaires stood in two unbroken ranks. Their mirrored shields gleamed with cold silver light in the gray morning mist.
Director Victor Hargrove lowered his silk-bound parchment and smoothed the lapels of his cashmere coat. A thin, satisfied smile touched his mouth.
“You really thought you were clever, didn’t you, nephew Vance?” Hargrove said. His voice carried across the terrace with the effortless projection of a seasoned boardroom speaker.
“You dragged a scrap-iron transit badge across the river,” Hargrove continued. “You invoked an obsolete 1996 public safety code to force the outer turnstile.”
Julian didn’t answer right away. He kept his right hand on the cold push-bar of Mobile Register Annex #04-B, boots planted wide on the marble seam.
“The 1996 safety code is active municipal law, Mr. Hargrove,” Julian said. “Thomas Vance’s inspector credential holds universal maintenance override across all twelve districts.”
“On public transit rights-of-way, yes,” Hargrove countered smoothly. He tapped the gold seal on his document with a manicured fingernail.
