The name on the outer-district list had three marks beside it. One meant the passenger had been waiting for the promised transport. Another meant someone believed he had left by a private vehicle. The third was a question written by a clerk who had not been able to reconcile the first two.
His partner wanted the question replaced by an appeal.
“Use his name,” she told Tessa. “Use the photograph. If he’s somewhere listening, he should know we’re looking.”
They were in the repair garage serving as the district’s temporary relief center. The machines had been isolated and blankets moved away from their working spaces. Anet sat at the corrections table with another coordinator beside her, finally able to leave for food when a handover was complete. The abandoned chairs at the shelter still appeared in every account she gave, as if her attention returned to them whenever the doorway opened.
Tessa had come with the relief network’s follow-up crew after completing the stadium handovers. Eli had traveled as a passenger under the care plan, with supervision and no operational assignment. He sat at a neighboring table, copying present document references the advocate asked him to preserve. His inherited talents remained under complete stop. The ledger rested closed beside his elbow.
