Soren placed the envelope beneath the flour ledger and kept his hand over it.
Wren finished the inventory line before looking up.
The kitchen had entered the quiet interval between evening cleanup and overnight preparation. Daya had gone. Petra was helping in cold storage. Maren stood at the far sink, washing a pot that had been clean for several minutes.
Privacy in Maren’s kitchen was rarely accidental.
“You received them,” Wren said.
“This afternoon.”
“How?”
“Elias requested certified public copies through a registry terminal in Greyford. He collected them in person and passed them to a forestry officer traveling south. The officer left them at the patrol station inside a sealed packet.”
“How many people handled it?”
“Three after Elias. None know why I wanted the file.”
Wren lo
