The office door clicked shut behind them, muffling the jazzy strains of Hard Rock Be-Bop to a distant thump-thump-thump. The boss's office was, frankly, underwhelming. No velvet curtains here, no artistic fungi arrangements. Just raw cave walls, a sturdy desk covered in scattered papers, a filing cabinet that had seen better centuries, and a safe tucked against the back wall like it was trying to hide behind a stack of crates.

​

Socrates squeaked from his perch on Tim's shoulder, his tiny claws gripping the armour as his antennae twitched with curiosity.

​

"Right then," Tim said, surveying the room with the air of someone conducting an official investigation. "What evidence can we find to nail this Klaspen bloke to the wall?"

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Matilda immediately gravitated towards the papers on the desk, her scholarly instincts kicking in.

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Eric, predictably nervous about snooping through someone's private office, hovered near the door. "Shouldn't we, um, be quick about this? What if the bouncer comes back?" His eyes darted to the framed pictures on the walls, and despite his anxiety, something caught his attention. 

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"And that safe," Tim said, turning their attention to the solid metal box against the wall. "Reckon that's where the real secrets are kept?"

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Socrates squeaked again, more insistently this time, and pointed one tiny claw towards a particular document on the desk that had slipped beneath a ledger.

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Eric, still by the pictures, called out nervously, "I don't mean to rush anyone, but I think I just heard the xylophone solo end."

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