The document had a smell.
This was the first thing Owan noticed—not its content, not its classification markings, not the three sequential access authorizations stamped in fading ink across its upper margin, but the particular quality of its smell: old paper and something beneath the paper, something faintly mineral, like water pressed for a long time between stones. He had broken the access seal by accident, or so he told himself for the first several minutes, which was long enough to make the telling feel almost true. The research archive in the water-throne's lower administrative quarter was not well-organized; Vael had sent him to retrieve the outer-corridor survey compilations filed under the Nubis approach designation, and the filing system operated on a classification scheme that apparently predated the current clerk by two generations and had not been explained to her successors. He had opened three wrong drawers before finding the right one, and the fourth wrong pull—a deep-archive repository evidently cross-referenced to the approach designation by some geographical logic he did not immediately parse—had deposited in his hands a file he was not cleared to hold.
He held it for eleven seconds before reading the cover notation.
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