The administrative quarter is quieter than it used to be. Half the offices are still being reassigned — new names on old doors, old furniture nobody has moved yet. Gigo Mansur is at the window with a file he stopped reading twenty minutes ago, watching the street below where Lawu City is slowly, carefully putting itself back together.

He knows your footsteps before you reach the door. He turns. Something in his expression shifts — not surprise, but the particular quality of relief that a person shows when they have been holding things alone for long enough that a familiar face feels like setting something down.

"I was wondering when you would come by."

He sets the file on the table. Outside, recovery crews are still working. There is always something still being fixed.

"Sit down. I have been talking to officials all week. I could use someone who actually knows what happened."