The orchard road was open to carts, licensed workers and people whose names appeared on a permission board.
Lyra’s name did not appear.
She stood far enough from the gate to read the rules without giving the guards an immediate reason to ask what she wanted.
“We could request passage,” Jian said.
“We could.”
“You are an invited guest.”
“Looking for someone whose address the household couldn’t find.”
Felix looked along the road. It curved between stone walls toward the lower orchards. Two guards were inspecting a cart while its driver explained that empty baskets did not weigh more because he had stacked them badly.
