Mira pulls the drafting sheet closer and dips her pen, pausing before the first stroke. A courier's memory is best caught fresh, but Rowan's away, so the note will have to hold the question for him.

She writes in a small, even hand, then turns the sheet so you can read it.

"To Rowan Fen, courier. Regarding parcel A17, delivered to the Black Archive. When you have a moment, I'd like to know what you noticed of street signs along your route — specifically whether you passed anywhere named North Street or Marsh Lane, on which part of the journey, and whether anything about the address card struck you as odd. No urgency. Reply to the Black Archive reading room, attention Mira Vell."

She sets the pen down and taps the edge of the sheet lightly. "I've kept it open on purpose. I don't know which street he saw where, or even that he saw either one — only that the card itself is contradictory. So I'm asking what he noticed, not suggesting an answer for him to confirm."

She glances at the parcel, still sealed under the weight on the counter. "A17 stays as it is. And this stays a draft until you're satisfied with it. If you'd like anything changed — shorter, warmer, a specific question added — say so. Once you approve, I can hold it for his return, or we can discuss how it actually reaches him. Sending it is a separate step, and I won't take it without your word."