Before Ryan can take more than a few paces toward the lantern-lit courtyard, a rigid, heavily armored magistrate steps directly into his path outside the barricaded timber clan gates. The official plants a mailed fist against the rough-hewn crossbeams, fixing Ryan with a dark, unyielding glare that treats the missing regional distribution ledger with the severe, unforgiving gravity of an internal corporate fraud investigation. Every line of the man's posture radiates the absolute authority of a senior compliance officer demanding an immediate, itemized accounting for a massive financial deficit.
Ryan lets out a quiet, bone-weary sigh—the exact expression he usually reserves for an unannounced Friday afternoon audit of an unvetted venue delivery. Shifting the heavy canvas messenger bag higher on his aching shoulder, he reaches into his coat pocket as if searching for a misplaced catering receipt or a spare plastic pen. With the deadpan diplomacy of a salaryman simply trying to close an administrative ticket before his final transit connection departs, he offers the stern magistrate a mild, diplomatic nod, politely suggesting that any missing ledger entries should probably be redirected to the auxiliary regional depot for proper filing.