Authorization arrived at 9:14, printed on paper that curled slightly as it emerged from the machine.
Nora waited for it to cool before signing.
The gesture made Dumas smile.
“Afraid the ink will run?”
“Afraid of people who sign before reading.”
“I thought you’d made progress.”
“Exactly.”
There was nothing spectacular about the controlled consultation room. Two tables, a camera on an articulated arm, a hygrometer, and blinds admitting the gray light of a winter morning. On the first table, the crate found in Saint-Ouen had been replaced by its relevant contents: the envelope marked **BRNO — inventory copy / interview collection — compare B-17**, set in an archival cradle. Beside it, an empty box bore the temporary reference **L4-RÉS/BRNO-01**. Kerjean had prepared a dated consultation sheet. Aubry stood near the door, holding the key to the locker where the items would be returned afterward.
A box, a reference number, a dated sheet.
Nora might have found peace in that geometry. For two weeks, the most ordinary objects had kept changing weight according to the sentence placed upon them. This morning she wanted them to remain what they were: a container, an identifier, proof that at a given time someone had done something verifiable.
Kerjean read aloud the scope of the supplementary order. The police could identify items relating to physical access to the stolen notebook, earlier reproductions, and digitization chains. The Center could establish the collection’s provenance. Personal information with no direct relevance had to remain masked. No interview content could be reproduced without further authorization.
“And me?” Nora asked.
Aubry handed her a worksheet.
“You inventory. Title, date, medium, previous reference, administrative cross-reference. No transcription of protected content.”
“What if the content explains a reference?”
“You stop me and ask.”
Nora picked up the pencil.
End of excerpt. Discover the other stories in this universe.