The building that housed the crime investigation unit looked just like any other building on Braga. Its white marble gleamed brightly in the morning sun, and the surrounding gardens were glistening as the last of the dew evaporated from the leaves and grasses. The flowers were opening up, but their scent was still muted, unable yet to compete with the smell from the cart at the bottom of the building"s steps where an older man was selling egg sandwiches and fresh coffee.
The steps up to the door were more numerous, wider, and just generally more imposing than those at the front of the guardian or diplomat schools. But that wide expanse invited sitting, and there were groups of people here and there eating breakfast together.
Ritchie had skipped breakfast herself, anxious to find out at o
