They started from the stairwell and worked room by room, not because they liked the plan but because it was the only way to be sure.
The offices were still cold from Alexei's ice and still sour from Zubair's fire, and when the doors opened the air moved in slow, tired waves that carried the bite of ash and the clean sting of frost.
Meltwater collected along the baseboards and made a thin mirror across the linoleum. It turned the broken ceiling lights into a wavering gray ribbon under their boots.
"Left to right. No gaps," Zubair grunted. His voice was steady, not loud, and everyone adjusted without having to answer.
Lachlan pushed the first rolling cabinet into place with his shoulder and then set the brake with his heel.
He tested the wheels twice, as if a third check would make the metal heavier. "This one's good," he murmured softly, and then glanced at the next door down the corridor. "You want shelves against the glass or the desks?"
