Dante did not need Marco to tell him that shit had hit the fan... he could see it in the way the morning unfolded before a single word was spoken.
Maybe that was a bit too mysterious... but it was accurate.
Nothing had gone wrong at all and he was... happy.
That was the problem.
Reports had come in on time. Messages had been answered. Calls had been returned. Every piece of information sitting in front of him suggested that the machine was still running the way it always had. Efficient. Controlled. Predictable.
And yet—
There was a slight delay.
Small enough that no one had flagged it as urgent, but large enough that it should not have existed at all.
Dante sat at his desk, the report open in front of him, his fingers resting lightly against the edge of the paper as his gaze moved over the same lines for the third time. The shipment had cleared the first checkpoint without issue. It had moved through the second stage without interference. Then it had slowed.
