Sera found the missing worker through a repair office that nearly had nothing left to offer.
Nara’s sister had chosen the present contact. The person attending the public number remembered the old meeting place and knew a volunteer who handled repairs for several temporary shelters. He would pass a request along, not give Sera a route through rooms where people had gone to avoid being found.
Sera left her name, her independent license reference and the fact that a drainage worker’s family was still searching. She did not send the photograph to everyone who answered a phone. The shelter volunteer called back after checking privately whether the man might want his family told he was alive.
“He isn’t agreeing to an interview,” she said.
“Then I won’t call it one.”
“You can come to the outer desk. I’ll meet you.”
Sera went alone, with the clinic informed of her return time. She wore the license because she had learned what concealing it could cost someone else. At the outer desk, however, the worker saw it before the volunteer could introduce her.
His face changed. He set down the cup he was carrying, backed away and turned toward an exit leading to the street.
