The walls of Reina's office glowed faintly, the mana filaments in the ceiling dimmed to a muted, soothing pulse. The scent of cold paper and polished wood filled the room, and for a few precious minutes, Reina allowed herself the luxury of silence. Her fingers traced the rim of the untouched glass beside her, the remnants of her earlier indulgence forgotten.
Then—the comm-stone embedded in her desk pulsed, a low, deliberate vibration that resonated through the heavy wood.
An Anchor contact.
High priority.
Reina sighed under her breath, steeling herself. She pressed her palm lightly against the stone, and the holographic projection flared to life above the desk—crisp lines, minimal distortion. On the other side, a figure materialized: formal robes layered in deep gray and silver, the insignia of the Anchor Corps woven subtly across the collar. His face was half-shadowed by the encryption filters, but Reina recognized him immediately.
