Hassan, the fish seller, put three receipts on the table before anyone mentioned the gate.
“I’ve paid for ice, stall space, and a delivery at five in the morning,” he said. “The fish is already on the truck. If the festival moves, I need somewhere to keep it cold and someone to tell the driver where to go.”
The grocery’s upstairs meeting room beside Bell Street Plaza was full enough that people stood along the walls. A map of the original festival site had been taped beside the door. Sera’s strongest readings ran beneath the marked gathering area and toward the shelter down the street. The surveyor’s signed report lay on a table below the map, held open with a jar of pens.
A woman near the back raised a hand. “My daughter uses a wheelchair. The original route has a ramp. Does the alternate site?”
“Not yet,” Kellan said. “I checked the entrance. There’s a curb and a narrow turn, but we can build a temporary ramp using Pavel’s timber if we obtain the missing fasteners tonight.”
“And the bus?”
“The nearest stop is farther away. We’d need transport for people who can’t make the walk.”
The woman moved closer to the map. “If we stay, who’s responsible if a gate opens under the crowd?”
