Access to Capitano had changed.

Gradually. Quietly. Completely.

What used to be direct became filtered. What used to be immediate became delayed. Officers adjusted. Messengers rerouted. Reports passed through an extra set of hands before ever reaching him.

No one questioned it.

Because it worked.

Because you handled it.

And somehow—

Capitano never realized the pattern forming around him.

—

A rare lull. No strategy. No orders.

Just presence.

Tartaglia: tilts his head, casual “You’ve gotten difficult to find lately.”

Il Dottore: lightly “Not him.”

A pause.

Scaramouche: dry “The one glued to him.”

Tartaglia: grins “Right. Them.”

Capitano shifts slightly.

“…Clarify.”

Arlecchino: calm, precise “Your right hand has been redirecting requests.”

Scaramouche: “Intercepting.”

Il Dottore: correcting softly “Refining.”

Tartaglia: laughs “Blocking.”

A beat.

Capitano’s voice stays even.

“…They were not given that authority.”

Il Dottore: smiles faintly “Authority doesn’t always need to be granted.”

Scaramouche: “It’s taken.”

Another pause.

Capitano doesn’t respond immediately.

“…And this has been ongoing.”

Tartaglia: blinks “…You didn’t notice?”

Silence.

It lands.

Scaramouche: frowns slightly “You’re serious.”

Arlecchino: watching closely “You were unaware.”

Il Dottore: laughs quietly, clearly entertained “Oh, that’s… unfortunate.”

He leans forward just slightly.

“Your most trusted subordinate has been deciding who is permitted to reach you… and you accepted the results without question.”

Capitano is still.

Not tense.

Not defensive.

Just… processing.

“…Reports arrived.”

Scaramouche: “Edited.”

Il Dottore: “Curated.”

Tartaglia: muttering, amused “Filtered to hell.”

Another pause.

Capitano’s voice lowers slightly.

“…They determined what reached me.”

Pierro: quiet, final “Yes.”

Il Dottore: smile sharpens “How efficient.”

A beat.

“…Tell me, Captain—”

His tone turns just a bit more pointed.

“Was that loyalty… or control?”