Sera missed the van the first time it left the depot.
She had been on the opposite pavement, pretending to read a notice about bus diversions, when a truck parked in front of her view. By the time it moved, the loading gate was open and the Aegis vehicle was turning onto the main road. She caught only the back half of its registration number.
She ran to the corner, reached the crossing as the light changed, and watched the van disappear behind a row of buses. A courier on a bicycle swore as she stepped back from the curb.
“Sorry,” she called.
The courier lifted a hand without turning. Sera checked the time and wrote down what she had seen: a vehicle matching part of the registration, departure at eight thirteen, direction east. She drew a line through the note that said follow vehicle and wrote lost at bus lane beside it.
There was no point inventing a route to make the morning useful. She bought tea from a stall, found a place where the depot gate was visible, and waited. The stall owner asked whether she was expecting a delivery. She said she was watching the road for a work assignment. He offered her the dry end of his awning, on the condition that she moved when customers arrived. She accepted and shifted twice to let people through.
At nine twenty, a different Aegis van arrived. Its number did not match. Two workers carried cases through the gate; one came back with an empty trolley. Sera noted the time and kept watching. A delivery driver approached her after his own vehicle had been checked.
“You waiting for someone?”
“Watching the traffic.”
“There’s a better view from the bridge.”
“I’m looking at the depot entrance.”
He followed her gaze. “Then the bridge is worse. Sorry.”
He went through the gate. Sera drank the last of her tea and wished she had brought a second coat. The rain from yesterday had left the air cold, and her boots were damp from standing near the drain.
At ten ten, the first van returned. This time she checked every character of the registration before stepping away from the wall. The driver parked for twelve minutes, then came out again and turned toward the station. Sera followed on foot as far as the tram line, keeping the vehicle in sight through the traffic. When it stopped at a light, she caught a tram moving in the same direction and stood near the rear window.
The van turned off beside a warehouse with a broad loading yard. Three guild emblems were mounted on signs along the fence, including Aegis. A fourth sign belonged to a private transport company. The vehicle passed through the gate; Sera stayed on the public pavement and checked her watch.
A security worker saw her looking and crossed the yard. “Can I help you?”
“I’m checking a delivery route.”
“Are you expecting a shipment?”
“Not today.”
“Then please keep the entrance clear.”
She stepped away from the gate. From the corner she could see the upper windows and the entrance, but a high wall concealed the loading area. She could not see what the van carried or whether anything came off it. She wrote that down before the temptation to fill the gap arrived.
The van emerged twenty-seven minutes later. Its rear doors were closed. It turned toward the station and joined a line of traffic. Sera could have followed again, but she would lose the chance to inspect the posted notices by the warehouse entrance. She photographed the van’s departure, excluding the driver, then crossed when the pedestrian signal changed.
The fence held a row of public safety notices under transparent covers. One described emergency exits and assembly points. Another gave a threat rating for a nearby residual area. Three inspection reports listed different inspectors and different dates, but their handwritten notes looked unusually alike: the same narrow loops, the same angular capital R, the same slash through the number seven.
Sera photographed the pages, angling the camera to avoid a worker entering the gate. The worker stopped anyway.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Photographing the public notices.”
“Why?”
“The handwriting looks similar across reports signed by different inspectors.”
He leaned in to look. “That’s probably Della. She fills out forms for half the building.”
“Is Della an inspector?”
“Clerk. The inspectors tell her what to write.”
“Did you see any of these inspections?”
“No. I drive a forklift. I see paperwork when someone puts it in front of me.” He pointed to one date. “That was before my shift.”
“Do you know whether Della signed the inspectors’ names too?”
“I didn’t say she did.” His expression hardened. “I said she fills out forms.”
“Sorry. I’m asking because I don’t know.”
He relaxed slightly. “I don’t know who signed them. You’d have to ask the office.”
Sera wrote his explanation and the limit of what he had witnessed. She did not write down his name. He had not offered it, and she had no reason to turn a casual conversation into a report about him.
A second truck approached. The worker moved her farther from the gate while it backed toward the loading area. He said the Aegis van usually arrived after lunch on this route. Sera showed him the time she had recorded.
“Then today is different,” he said. “Or I remember the wrong van.”
She wrote both possibilities, then waited for the truck to finish maneuvering. It carried a load of wrapped timber. A strap had twisted around one corner, and the driver stopped twice to adjust his mirror while reversing. Sera moved to the far side of the pavement so she would not be in his way.
The worker went back through the gate. A woman in a warehouse vest came out to check the posted notices. She opened one cover, removed a page and replaced it with a newer notice. Sera asked whether she could photograph the page before it went inside.
“It’s the old version,” the woman said.
“I’d like to compare the dates.”
The woman held it up long enough for Sera to photograph the top and signature. She did not allow a picture of the lower half, where handwritten notes included workers’ names.
“The new one is on the board,” she said. “If you need anything else, ask the office.”
Sera thanked her. The revised notice used the same general threat category as the old one, though a sentence about access had changed. She could not see whether the partially covered notes affected the rating. She recorded the time of the replacement and saved both photographs.
By noon her stomach was reminding her that tea was not lunch. She bought a sandwich from a cart and ate while watching the gate. No second visit from the Aegis van occurred during the next forty minutes. She could have stayed all day, but the clinic needed the observations while they were fresh, and the public side of the warehouse offered little more to see.
On the tram back she reviewed the photographs. One had caught a reflection of a pedestrian in the notice cover. She cropped the image to the printed page and kept the original private in case the crop obscured context. The handwriting comparison remained visible in both versions.
Eli was at the clinic with Tessa and Kellan. They had been sorting a new supply order, marking which items could be collected locally and which required delivery. Sera spread her map across the counter and described the missed first departure before the successful observation.
“You lost it?” Eli asked.
“Once. The second time I saw the full registration and followed it to the warehouse.”
“What came off?”
“I couldn’t see.”
She showed them the notice photographs and the handwritten notes. Eli laid the pages side by side.
“Different inspectors. Same handwriting.”
“A worker says a clerk fills out forms for several inspectors,” Sera replied. “He didn’t see the inspections or know who signed.”
“That would let one person write whatever they wanted.”
“It would let one person write what they were told. We don’t know which.”
Eli pointed to the Aegis emblem on the warehouse sign. “Rook’s guild uses the building. The public stock identifier appears on their ledger. The van goes there.”
“And three other companies use it,” Sera said. “The van could be delivering routine stock. I saw the stop, not the cargo.”
Kellan took the map and compared the address with a supplier quote in the clinic’s pile. “Our distributor stores the ordered dressings here.”
“Can we collect them?” Tessa asked.
“They offer collection if we bring the invoice and a vehicle. The delivery charge would use most of the transport fund.”
Leah checked the quote. “We can pay the collection price now. The order is for supplies we already need.”
Eli looked from the quote to the photographs. “We could look at the reports while we’re there.”
“Public notices, yes,” Tessa said. “We can ask the office for copies. The order doesn’t give us permission to search their records.”
“I wasn’t suggesting breaking into an office.”
“You were about to suggest something before Sera stopped you.”
He folded his arms. “I was about to ask whether there was a way to see where the van unloaded.”
“From a place we’re allowed to stand?”
“If possible.”
Sera tapped the wall drawn on her map. “From the public pavement, no. From the loading yard, maybe, but we’d be there to collect our order. If they ask us to leave after collection, we leave.”
Kellan measured the clinic’s folding cart against the dimensions on the quote. “We need wider straps. The boxes are taller than the ones from the pump station.”
He pulled a notebook from his coat to write the measurements. An envelope fell from between the pages. It carried an Aegis return address.
Eli saw the emblem. “What’s that?”
“An offer.” Kellan picked it up but did not open it immediately. “It came this morning.”
“From Rook?”
“From an Aegis recruiter. I haven’t read the whole thing.”
Tessa moved the supply quote aside. “Do you want privacy?”
“I want to know what they’re offering before I decide.”
He opened the envelope at the counter. The paper inside was heavy, and a separate card named a recruiter with a direct telephone number. Kellan turned the card over, looking for the small print he had learned to expect on the back of an offer. There was none. He put it beside the envelope and unfolded the first page. The first page described a construction and gate-support position with a regular wage, equipment and medical coverage for an eligible family member. The coverage began before Theo’s next appointment. Kellan read the paragraph again, slowly enough that Sera turned away to give him room.
“How much?” Eli asked.
“Enough to make the appointment manageable. More than this team has offered.”
He turned the page. A paragraph near the bottom required the worker to report specified observations about unaffiliated hunters encountered during assignments. A name appeared in a schedule attached to the back: Eli Voss.
Kellan’s hand stopped. He read the clause a second time, then placed the page face down. Theo’s appointment date was written in the notebook beneath it. The two pages lay almost touching: a date his brother could not move easily, and an offer that might pay for it.
“I’ll read the rest at home,” Kellan said.
Eli wanted to ask why Aegis had chosen him and what else the recruiter knew. Kellan had not agreed to anything. He had brought the letter into the clinic in full view of the people it concerned.
“If you want Nora to look at it,” Tessa said, “I can ask whether she’s available.”
“I’ll decide after I’ve read it.”
Sera gathered her photographs. “I’ll send the public pages to Leah. Keep the original timestamps.”
Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the road glossy under the afternoon light. Kellan put the offer back in its envelope and slipped it into the notebook beside Theo’s appointment costs. The clinic had a legitimate order to collect from the warehouse. Before they went, the team had a more personal decision to face: what they could offer a man whose brother needed care now.