The voice, ancient and powerful and utterly devoid of interest, echoed from all around them.
"The Adjudicators will see you now."
The words settled like stone into the silence, and the vast, circular chamber seemed to grow colder. The air was thick with the dry, papery scent of a million forgotten documents. A faint, scratching sound, like a thousand invisible quills writing at once, bled from the very walls—a constant, unnerving reminder that everything they did was being recorded.
The team stood frozen in the center of a sea of polished grey stone. Pip, his eyes darting to every shadowless corner, leaned towards Gilda. "Is there a form we can file now," he whispered, "that counts as us being sorry... before we got caught?"
She didn't even turn. She just let out a low, final grunt.
