Mikhail looked up from the ledger, the dim light of the mobile flood lamp casting long shadows across the unfinished yard. A tall man in a charcoal coat stepped forward with his hands folded neatly behind his back, the shine of his patent shoes out of place amid the dust and concrete.
"Mr. DuPont," the man said smoothly. His voice was measured, precise. "Apologies for the late visit. I had hoped to see your operation in action… unfiltered."
Mikhail didn't move. "Site's closed. If you've got questions, come back with a scheduled inspection."
The man gave a slight nod of amusement, like a professor indulging a slow student. "I'm Inspector Volgren. Regional Office of Industrial Compliance. I believe your foreman, Ms. Katya Morel, filed your quarry and crushing permits under expedited code 2A. Yes?"
Now Mikhail stood. "We did. Everything Is documented."
Volgren smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He drew a sleek black pen from his coat and flicked it once like a baton. "Then you won't mind if I take a quick walk-through. Just a professional courtesy. Off the record."
Before Mikhail could answer, Kat emerged from the temporary office trailer, Lars following close behind. Kat's eyes locked onto Volgren instantly. "You've got to be kidding," she muttered.
Lars's expression darkened. "Volgren. The same one who shut down Westside Reclaimers?"
"Among others," Volgren replied, unfazed. He stepped forward, leisurely scanning the site as if admiring a sculpture he planned to dismantle. "Nice limestone setup. Innovative, I'd even say. Not many think to crush on-site."
"Is there a problem?" Mikhail asked tightly.
"Just tying up paperwork. You know how the central office gets." Volgren stopped beside one of the floodlights, squinting at the pile of quarry stone. "I've been following your filings. Very aggressive timeline. Not what we usually see from fresh operations, especially ones without guild backing."
The air tensed.
Kat crossed her arms. "Are you here to inspect, or to lecture?"
Volgren turned slowly. "Neither, Ms. Morel. I'm here to advise. When a project moves too quickly, mistakes happen. Things get… overlooked. One inspection skipped. One courier late. One form is mis-dated." He smiled again, slow and thin. "And suddenly, progress stops."
Lars pulled out the folder from under his arm and flipped through it with surgical precision. "All filings are clean. We've tracked every permit, every delivery, every form."
"Have you?" Volgren arched his brow. "Then perhaps you can explain why Form 5C, confirming secondary inspection of your third-party concrete sample, isn't registered yet in our system?"
Lars froze. His fingers stopped flipping. "That was delivered two days ago."
"To whom?"
"Couriered to District Office 4."
Volgren looked at Mikhail. "Then you'll have no objection to pausing operations until we can confirm receipt. Just protocol."
Mikhail's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Volgren tucked the pen back into his coat and turned away. "Of course, if there's no issue, you'll be back to work by next week."
As he walked off, Kat hissed, "He's setting us up."
"I know," Mikhail said. His eyes were on the poured foundation, the floodlight, the half-crushed stone. His voice was level, but inside his mind raced. "He came looking for a reason."
From the darkness, the wind stirred. Lars stepped closer. "That form went out. I'll call the courier first thing."
Mikhail didn't respond. He walked to the edge of the slab and knelt, fingers brushing the surface, the heat of the day still lingering in the concrete. His thoughts swirled with old ghosts and fresh doubts.
Then, clear and unmistakable, a voice stirred beside him.
"You're doing well, Mikhail. Now stay the course."
Mikhail's breath caught. The voice had no echo, no origin, just a presence, warm and quiet, that bloomed directly into his thoughts.
He turned sharply, expecting someone behind him. But there was only the skeletal steel framing behind the slab, a few shadowed piles of gravel, and the wind tugging gently at the tarp over the toolshed. Kat and Lars were still near the trailer, speaking in low tones. No one else had moved.
"You're doing well, Mikhail. Now stay the course."
He stood slowly, eyes scanning the empty site, heart hammering once, then settling. The voice hadn't startled him. Not exactly. It had stirred something older, like hearing a song you once loved but had forgotten.
"Astrid?" he whispered aloud.
There was no answer.
But the presence didn't fade. It clung to him, subtle as the limestone dust on his boots. A calm certainty. Not instruction. No warning. Just… trust.
Mikhail stared out at the floodlit site, his hands slowly curling into fists. He wasn't sure what Astrid was, or even who she truly had been, but he remembered the first time he heard her. Back in the rusted machine shop. That voice, buried beneath machinery, had broken through the exhaustion and noise like a gentle knock on a locked door.
And now, just when Volgren had stepped in like a serpent offering courtesy, just when doubt had begun to whisper again, Astrid's voice returned. Not as an escape. As an anchor.
Behind him, Lars approached, his tone clipped. "Courier confirmed. Form 5C was delivered. Stamped and logged. District Office 4 claims it must be a system delay."
"Too clean," Mikhail said, still facing the slab. "Volgren knew exactly which form would be late to update."
Kat joined them. "This wasn't random. He was here to send a message. We're being watched."
"No," Mikhail said quietly. "We're being measured." He turned to them now, his gaze clear. "Volgren wanted to see how we'd react. If we'd break rank, panic, offer something off-record."
Lars adjusted his glasses. "And we didn't. So now what?"
"We don't just continue," Mikhail said. "We double down. Every document, every shipment, every headcount flawless. If we make a single mistake now, they'll drag us back through the mud."
Kat looked toward the gate. "That's a lot of pressure."
Mikhail glanced back at the slab. "Pressure makes stone stronger. Just ask the quarry."
He stepped toward the trailer. The concrete felt firmer under his boots than it had seconds ago.
Inside, the table was cluttered with maps and plan sheets. Mikhail swept them aside and pulled a clean drafting pad from the shelf. He began sketching, a perimeter adjustment, emergency lighting improvements and marked crew zones. Each line flowed with precise momentum.
Kat leaned in. "New layout?"
"Community safety buffer," he said. "If they're going to start watching us, we'll show them we have nothing to hide."
Lars opened the site logbook. "If we move fast, we can get the new plan filed before the week's end."
Mikhail didn't look up. His pencil stopped. "Do it."
The flood lights flickered briefly from the generator, then steadied.
Kat stepped outside to check the line.
Mikhail stood, the last of Astrid's whisper lingering in the silence of the office. He didn't know what she was. Memory? Ghost? Echo? He didn't care. All that mattered was that, somehow, someone still believed in him.
From outside, Kat's voice called, sharp and urgent. "Mikhail, someone's at the gate."