The missing notice had a hunter’s heading and a loading worker’s photograph.
Eli saw it when the young woman put it on the triage desk, flattening the curled paper with both hands. Rain had blurred one corner. The list beneath the heading had come from the registered entrants, the people officials could readily identify through guild records. Her father’s name had been added by hand after she failed to find him there.
“They told me to take the pickup to the search muster,” she said. “The driver says we have to leave before the west route closes.”
Tessa read the notice. She did not recognize the photograph well enough to answer from it. Around them the harbor receiving station had settled into the noise of people repeating details because each desk seemed to need a different piece. The core remained under its separate watch beyond the warehouse. Its announcement and the argument over the warning had drawn officials away from the small failures accumulating in the patient register.
“Was he registered as a hunter?” Tessa asked.
“No. Loading crew. That’s why I wrote it there.”
“Which contractor?”
The woman named it and showed a work-slip number stored in the fold of her coat. Her fingers shook too much to hold the paper still. Eli moved a clean weight toward her, then waited for her to use it instead of pinning down her belongings himself.
