The summons had already been delivered when Wren reached the east service corridor at eight-thirty.
It was not addressed to her.
The notice had been taped to the logistics room door in Henrique’s handwriting: All supply-review attendees, main conference room, nine o’clock. Below the attendee list—the transportation officer, two senior logistics staff, the patrol quartermaster—someone had added her name in different ink.
Caelum’s handwriting.
She recognized it immediately.
Wren stood in the corridor and read the list twice. Not because she needed to. Because she needed to understand what it meant that her name had been added after the document had already been prepared, in the handwriting of the man who had slowed for two seconds beside her breakfast table and still walked away.
The c
