The heavy iron door of the private workspace groaned on its ancient hinges, sealing out the damp hum of the subterranean transit tunnels. Inside, the air smelled deeply of old printed books, crumbling physical maps, and the faint, bitter scent of recycled oil from the overhead ventilation ducts. Mima’s office was a stark contrast to the sterile, neon-lit corridors of the upper tower facilities. Rough timber bookshelves lined the uneven stone walls, packed tightly with binding leather and historical tactical charts that predated the rise of the corporate boards. In the center of the room sat a massive wooden desk, lit only by a single low-voltage desk lamp that threw long, dancing shadows across the wrinkled papers spread across its surface.
Mima sat behind the desk, her face partially o
