He let the door click shut just as the main entrance to the archive room groaned open.

“Search the desks,” a voice commanded from the other side of the wall.

It was a voice I knew well.

It belonged to Captain Merritt, General Albright’s aide, but his tone was unusually sharp.

I held my breath, pressing my back against the cold concrete wall.

Beside me, Miller was trembling so hard his keys jingled in his pocket.

I reached out and grabbed his hand to steady him.

“We need to verify the digital registry,” I whispered in his ear.

He nodded slowly, his eyes wide in the dim light.

“The offline terminal in the sub-basement,” he breathed. “It has the cryptographic hashes.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

We crept down the narrow concrete stairs, our rubber-soled shoes silent on the steps.

The air grew colder the deeper we went.

My mind was spinning with the image of that signature.

*Major General Arthur Vale.*

The letters had been perfectly formed, with the characteristic sharp cross on the ‘t’ that he always used.

He had died believing his legacy was clean.