There was a desk, mostly used for gathering more packages, like a set of Triple Triad cards and some sports team memorabilia. Among them were some notes, the writing on them tight and neat, that mostly seemed to be records of work hours and schedule adjustments.

"Security is...on its way," the footman reported, hands up like he was placating wild animals, and not looking entirely sure about this declaration with a worried glance over his shoulder. Tony's gaze slid slowly back toward Cayde, mouth pinched dubiously. It wasn't like the footman had alerted anyone.