Sera caught the courier at the corner because he slipped on a loose sheet of his own paper.
He had turned sharply toward the bus stop, one arm raised to keep the remaining notices against his chest. The sheet skidded beneath his shoe. He hit the wall with his shoulder and dropped the bundle.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sera said.
He scrambled to his feet. “I was paid to deliver them.”
“By whom?”
“A man at the print shop. He gave me the addresses and cash.”
“Did you see him print them?”
“No.”
