Before Ryan can pivot away from the platform clerk, a stern provincial magistrate steps out from the shadow of the timber awning, blocking the narrow corridor entirely. The official fixes Ryan with an unyielding glare, demanding an immediate, itemized accounting of the district's volatile gunpowder reserves—treating the heavy matchlock rifle requisitions and cold-welded ledgers straining Ryan's arms like an unvetted, high-risk hazardous materials audit that threatens to blow the entire regional operating budget.
Ryan lets out a quiet, bone-weary sigh, the exact acoustic equivalent of an exhausted events coordinator handling an unexpected safety compliance failure five minutes before a product launch. Supporting the massive, cold-welded brass ledger against his ribs with one aching arm, he reaches into his coat pocket as if searching for a standard corporate safety checklist or a spare blue ballpoint pen. With the deadpan, bureaucratic patience of a salaryman simply trying to close out an administrative ticket, he offers the magistrate a mild, diplomatic nod, politely suggesting that explosive ordinance inventories are typically managed by the logistics sub-committee rather than the morning commuter marketing team.