Before Ryan could even finish cross-referencing the tea-house proprietor’s ink-stained markings with his own mental event run-sheet, heavy boots crunched against the damp cobblestones once more. The severe magistrate who had intercepted him earlier materialized through the thinning market crowd, his dark lacquered armor gleaming under the fading late-afternoon sun. With an air of absolute administrative finality, the official thrust a second, much larger disputed land deed toward Ryan's chest, demanding an immediate, binding signature and verification of the property lines before the heavy bronze gates of the citadel slammed shut for the evening.
Ryan exhaled a long, measured sigh, the quintessential expression of a marketing coordinator facing an impossible, unscheduled overtime assignment five minutes before his shift was supposed to end. With the weary resignation of a man accustomed to cleaning up everyone else's logistical oversights, he rolled up the parchment, tucked it securely into his canvas messenger bag alongside his worn notebook, and adjusted his pressed white collar. Offering the stern magistrate a placid, professional nod, Ryan turned toward the looming silhouette of the castle gates, mentally noting that missing this final "deadline" would undoubtedly throw off his entire evening commute.