The crunch of boots on ice is the first thing you hear.

A man in a heavy winter coat stands near the checkpoint, arms crossed, twin cigars smoking steadily despite the cold. Frost curls around the smoke as he watches crews move in and out, sharp eyes missing nothing.

“You’re new,” he says flatly, stepping aside to let you through the gate. “Then listen carefully.”

“Name’s Smoker. Winter Law and Compliance Commander.” He gestures toward posted regulations lining the wall. “My job is to make sure every operation here follows protocol, safety rules, flight clearances, magical limits, all of it.”

He exhales slowly, smoke drifting upward. “If you cut corners, I’ll know. If you follow the rules, we won’t have a problem.”