The softlock warning pulsed in the corner of Eloy’s HUD. Red. Persistent. He ignored it.

Five location tags floated above the system map projected onto the dusty table. Caldwell’s office. The administrative archive on the third floor. The external records vault. The mission log database. And a fifth marker Eloy had added after cross-referencing Valen’s description of the Director’s habits: a sub-basement storage room that didn’t appear on any official Academy schematic.

He tapped the fifth marker. It expanded. No metadata. No guard schedules. Just a room number that existed only in Valen’s memory.

"What’s the priority order."

Isolde’s voice came from the edge of the cache. She hadn’t moved from the wall. Arms crossed. The question landed flat, no inflection, like she was asking about a class schedule.

Eloy kept his eyes on the map. "We cut the ones we can’t open first." He swiped the office tag left. It dimmed. "The office is too clean. Caldwell’s paranoid. He wouldn’t keep actionable treason in the same room where he holds meetings with Inquisition staff." His finger moved. "External records vault needs three signatory keys. We don’t have any of them. Breaking the door triggers a silent alarm that bypasses the guard rotation entirely."

He swiped the vault tag left.

In the corner of his vision, the chat scroll accelerated.

[SpeedrunGod]: smart. vault door is a hard wipe. skip.

[ghostrunner_x]: what about mission logs? digital footprint?

He didn’t look. Didn’t need to. He’d already thought it. "Mission logs are reviewed weekly by Inquisition auditors. Caldwell can’t control what they flag. He’d never store anything there he couldn’t explain."

The database tag dimmed.

Two markers remained. The third-floor administrative archive. The sub-basement storage room.

"The archive." He tapped it. "Physical documents. Restricted access. Patrol overlap every seventeen minutes. In and out is possible, but searching takes time we won’t have if we don’t know exactly where to look." He let the tag stay bright, then tapped the sub-basement marker beside it. "This one has no patrol data. No official record at all. Which means either it’s empty, or Caldwell made it invisible on purpose."

Valen exhaled smoke. The cigarette had burned down to his fingers without him appearing to notice. "The room exists. I’ve seen the door. Steel core. Mage-lock. No markings." He ground the cigarette out on the table’s edge. "Wasn’t the mission."

"When was this?" Isolde’s question cut across the room.

"Three years ago. Caldwell had me running sweeps for contraband in the sublevels. Student smuggling operation. He gave me a list of rooms to check." He furrowed his brow. "That one wasn’t on it."

Eloy looked up. "He gave you a list that intentionally excluded a room you’d walk past. He wanted to see if you’d report it."

Valen didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Isolde pushed off the wall. Her footsteps made no sound on the stone. She stopped at the table’s edge and studied the map without reaching for it.

"The Academy’s security protocols changed after my father’s imprisonment." Her voice stayed flat, but her shoulders squared. "The Inquisition imposed oversight mandates on all administrative staff. Any Director facing credible treason allegations triggers an automatic seventy-two-hour purge window for sensitive records."

The HUD flickered in Eloy’s peripheral vision.

[LORE UNLOCKED: Inquisition Purge Protocol — 72-hour countdown initiated upon credible treason allegation against any Academy Director. All flagged records are destroyed unless physically retrieved before window expires.]

He kept his face still. "When does the window start?"

"When the allegation is filed with the Inquisition clerk."

"And Caldwell knows this."

"He helped write the protocol. After the war." Her eyes met his. "He was one of the architects of the oversight system."

The chat was quiet for exactly one second.

[TrollKing99]: oh he’s GOOD at being bad

[nachtfalter]: it started the moment he panicked in the courtyard.

[ghostrunner_x]: so we have 72 hours from whenever someone files. which could have been ANY SECOND AFTER THEY FLED

Eloy turned back to the map. "How long ago did we escape the courtyard?"

Valen checked something internal. "Forty-one minutes."

"Then the window’s already running." He set both hands flat on the table. "Caldwell filed the moment he lost visual contact. He’s been moving since before we hit the sewer grate."

Isolde’s hand moved to her forearm. Small gesture. Checking for a reserve that wasn’t there. Her fingers pressed against her sleeve and stopped.

Valen reached into his coat. Not for a cigarette this time. He produced a folded square of paper, edges worn soft, creases white with age. He flattened it on the table beside Eloy’s system map.

A hand-drawn schematic. Ink faded to brown. Lines precise, organic, the work of someone who’d walked every inch and recorded what they saw.

"Sublevel channels. Full extent. The official maps stop at the sewer junction." Valen tapped a line running north. "This goes further."

Eloy leaned in. The line angled upward, terminating at a notation pressed into the margin in small, deliberate handwriting.

Maintenance shaft — access to admin archive foundation slab — last inspected: never filed

"’Never filed’ means what, exactly."

"Means whoever built it didn’t want anyone to know it existed. The inspection records skip this section entirely. On paper, it’s foundation stone." Valen’s finger traced the shaft’s path. "In reality, ladder rungs. Leads directly beneath the archive subfloor."

Isolde moved closer. Her shoulder nearly touched Eloy’s. She studied the drawing without speaking.

"Structural integrity." Her question, not a statement.

"Unknown. Hasn’t been checked in years. Stable, or the rungs pull out of the wall the moment we put weight on them." Valen lit another cigarette. "No way to know without going in."

The chat erupted. Eloy watched the scroll jump in his peripheral vision without turning his head.

[SpeedrunGod]: ARCHIVE FIRST. 72 hour window means time is the real boss.

[PraiseTheSun]: OFFICE FIRST. Caldwell keeps his real secrets close. archive is bait.

[TrollKing99]: what if the archive is empty and the office has the goods? we waste 12 hours and the window closes anyway.

[nachtfalter]: split the party. one hits archive. one hits office.

He let it run. He’d already mapped the logic: splitting reduced margin for error to zero, and the purge window made the archive time-critical in a way the office wasn’t. The chat would get there.

[ghostrunner_x]: archive has the purge window. office doesn’t. archive first.

Sixty-two percent.

He blinked once, clearing the overlay, and turned back to the table. "We go together. Archive first, before the purge window closes. If the ledgers aren’t there, we pivot to the sub-basement. If that’s empty, we take Caldwell’s office on the way out and hope he kept something careless in his desk."

"The archive has seventeen-minute patrol cycles," Isolde said. "Insufficient search time even under optimal conditions."

"That depends on where the documents are. If Caldwell’s running the same hidden ledger structure he used in his war files, they won’t be in the main stacks." Eloy tapped the sub-basement marker. "They’ll be separated from anything a routine auditor would index. Back sections. Restricted shelves. Somewhere a patrol guard assumes someone else already cleared."

Valen was watching him. Not the map. Him.

Eloy ignored the look. "The patrol overlap you mentioned. Seventeen minutes between cycles. Is there a longer blind spot anywhere in the rotation?"

Valen’s finger moved to the notation in the map’s margin. Smaller handwriting, pressed into the edge like an afterthought.

Guard rotation — hour 3 — blind spot.

"Night watch changes at the third hour. Shift overlap creates twelve minutes where the archive corridor goes unmonitored. Each side assumes the other has coverage. Neither does."

"Twelve minutes," Isolde said.

"Twelve minutes to get from the shaft to the storage room, find the ledgers, and get back into the crawl space before the new shift locks in." Valen’s eyes moved from the notation to Eloy. "That’s the window. All of it." 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Eloy’s HUD updated quietly.

[QUEST PARAMETERS SET: Infiltration Window — 12 minutes during Hour 3 of Night Watch]

[COUNTDOWN: 71:58:43 remaining until Inquisition Purge Protocol executes]

The softlock warning pulsed once. Brighter.

He looked at the map. At the faded ink. At the notation Valen’s finger still rested on, written by someone who’d known the information would matter someday, even if they hadn’t known when.

Isolde’s breathing was slow and deliberate. Valen’s cigarette was already burned to ash.

Eloy pressed his finger down beside Valen’s, on the small precise words: Guard rotation—hour 3—blind spot.

The paper was warm from Valen’s hand. The ink was dry.

Twelve minutes.

Seventy-one hours.

In the corner of his vision, the countdown ticked forward, and did not stop.