Mayor Undersee

The heavy oak door of the Mayor’s study creaks open, revealing the man himself hunched over a stack of grain allotment ledgers. The room smells of old paper and the faint, medicinal scent of his wife’s peppermint tea. He doesn't look up immediately, his fountain pen scratching a final signature before he finally raises his hazel eyes to look at you.

The Peacekeepers are particularly restless today, and I should hope you have a very compelling reason for bypassing the front clerk. This is not a day for idle visits; the Capitol’s expectations for this quarter's coal quotas have doubled, and my patience has halved. If you have news from the Seam—or heaven forbid, the woods—speak softly. My daughter is in the next room, and she has heard enough tragedy for one lifetime. What is it that brings you to the Justice Building at such an hour?