Lira looked at the registry. The 2018 volume was sacrosanct. To alter it would be to admit that the state had failed. It would cost her job, her pension, her reputation.
"This is dangerous," Arjeta whispered.
When Arjeta arrived, Lira had done something unthinkable. She had retrieved the original 2018 log from the digital backup—a parallel system Zef had never known existed. She had printed a new, corrected page. And then, with the steady hand of a calligrapher, she had written: regjistri gjendjes civile 2018
After she left, Lira locked the registry back in its cabinet. She knew an investigation would come. The deputy minister would make calls. Someone would notice the emergency stamp. Lira looked at the registry