The hallway outside the Grand Parliament's high-security vault was eerily quiet, illuminated by the cold brilliance of crystal chandeliers and polished marble.
As the heavy steel doors hissed shut behind them, Arthur and Bureau Head Derrick walked side by side, the tension that had just moments ago gripped the room now trailing after them like smoke in the air.
Arthur moved with a deliberate calm, embodying the unhurried stride of a man who had already secured victory.
In contrast, Derrick cast anxious glances over his shoulder.
His lips were pressed into a thin line, and for once, his usually composed demeanor bore signs of unease.
They passed a marble bust of an old Federation founder, stoic and blind to the shifting tides beneath him, before Derrick finally broke the silence.
"…Arthur."
Without breaking stride, Arthur replied coolly. "Yes?"
Derrick hesitated; he seemed to weigh each word carefully before letting it slip out. "Will they… actually let this go?"
