Before Ryan can offer a practical, procedural counter-proposal regarding the disputed ledger, an anxious local magistrate pushes urgently through the damp, lantern-lit crowd. With the frantic energy of an office manager dropping a late-breaking floor-closure notice right before a long weekend, the official thrusts an unsealed parchment scroll directly into Ryan's hands, his ink-stained fingers trembling slightly against the rough-cut edge of the paper.
Ryan catches the fluttering sheet with the mechanical reflex of an events coordinator intercepting an impossible last-minute venue change order. The document outlines an abrupt, unexpected curfew order for the commercial district—effective immediately, translating an archaic security clampdown into the exact same flavor of bureaucratic inconvenience as a sudden building-wide badge lockout or an unannounced network restriction.
Letting out a long, bone-weary sigh that fogs slightly in the heavy maritime air, Ryan adjusts the heavy canvas strap of his messenger bag. He offers the anxious official a placid, unimpressed nod, treating the feudal emergency decree with the exact same deadpan resignation he usually reserves for an impromptu management review or a delayed afternoon commute.