The event ended at seven.
By seven-fifteen the satellite room was empty and the Vault building had reduced itself to its nighttime staff — two archive clerks, one security rotation, the Arbiter proxy's assistant finishing something on the upper floor. Neva had watched the departure pattern while appearing to review her folder. She had given it ten minutes after the last representative left before she stood up, collected her things, and went not toward the elevator but toward the back corridor.
The historical archive was three doors down from the main chamber on the subterranean level. Her Alpha clearance gave her access — she had checked this in the registration documentation before she ever set foot in the building. Legal. Within the bounds of her registered status. She was not doing an
