There’s a slight twitch to his expression at the Orlesian title; not enough to quibble about the use of it, however. It’s polite, and he’s answered to worse.

“Andor,” he says, his voice noticeably Tevene-accented. “Cassian Andor. Newly arrived.”

The way he approaches the desk is as if she’s called him in to attention. A straight bearing, professional and obedient, a hound called to heel. He reaches into his pocket, retrieves the piece of folded paper, and sets it on the nearest clear spot at the edge of the woman’s desk.

“Leadership will need to see my credentials, but they’re in the form of an encrypted letter from the Lucerni. I hear you might be able to help me.”