In his study, Roland was busy drafting an intelligence report.
The dark wooden desk before him was meticulously organized. A map was spread across the left side, several parchments filled with intel notes occupied the right, and a crystal pager sat at the corner. The pen in his hand moved with fluid speed, recording row after row of the Solari troop movements in Sol-Regis that had recently been reported.
He paused for a moment, re-reading his notes, and let out a weary sigh.
It wasn't enough. There were still too many variables to confirm.
He set his pen down, rose from his chair, and walked to the window. outside, the sky was a dull gray. Clouds drifted lazily. In the distance, factory chimneys continued to belch smoke, a sign that the city was still alive—still functioning, still normal.
Yet, a sense of unease gnawed at his chest.
Roland returned to his desk. His gaze fixed on the crystal pager. The device remained silent. No ringing. No vibration.
