Morgan stood beside an overturned table in the center of the entrance hall, holding the cup of tea he had just refilled with hot water. When he saw Douglas enter, he set the cup on the tabletop, straightened up, and waited for him to speak.
Douglas glanced at him and spread his palm over the table between them. The two team members standing guard by the door dipped their heads slightly in salute, then left together.
There was nothing in Douglas's palm, but the gesture of opening his hand was itself a signal—telling everyone else nearby that they did not need to approach for the time being.
"London approved it," he said. "The reply came directly from the Director's Office. The authorization reads: 'Ensure the integrity of Azkaban's defensive system and thoroughly investigate past derelictions of duty.' The rotation procedures have been completed, and all documents will be retained on file at headquarters."
Morgan nodded, maintaining the excited air of someone who had "finally received official orders," though beneath that excitement lay just the right amount of caution—the restraint of a newcomer who wanted to prove himself before important figures without making a mistake.
He stepped half a pace closer to Douglas and lowered his voice. "Then... did you mention my idea to the higher-ups?"
Douglas looked at him without answering immediately.
He turned and walked toward a relatively quiet low table in the corner of the entrance hall. Only after sitting down did he tilt his head to indicate that Morgan should sit as well. Morgan sat across from him, squarely in the middle of his chair, back straight, hands on his knees, his posture as textbook-perfect as a training camp model.
"Your proposal was entered into the tactical memorandum," Douglas said. His voice was low, but every word