"Overlay last decade's shift rosters," she ordered.
Rodion's voice materialised, softer down here where stone swallowed echoes. <"Compiling roster archives. Please note: this facility lacks palace network uplink. Initiating local cache sync.">
A fresh wash of light shimmered across the map. Tiny glyphs scrolled beside each patrol dot—names, ranks, favours owed. Calderon's patterns emerged like tell-tale cracks in otherwise perfect glass: the same officer signing off on every second night shift, the same two corridors left conspicuously unguarded after dusk bells.
"Shadow corridors," she muttered. "Because their bribed engineers can't resist lazy shortcuts."
She zoomed the projection, fingers carving a quick rune in the air. Guard rotations peeled back, showing heat gradients. New illuminations flared where arcane sensors slumbered. She made mental notes: Ventilation grate L-23—loose bars. Water-well passage—unmonitored. Stone balcony above the tapestry gallery—view of both wings.
