Elsa Venn had chosen the table before Drake arrived.
Two exits. A harbor clerk at the next bench. Her chair faced the door, and the distress strip lay beneath her hand rather than waiting in a place he could casually pick it up.
He approved of the arrangements. He wished she had not needed to make them for him.
Merrit took the neighboring chair when Elsa agreed she could remain. Drake sat opposite.
“Thank you for identifying the cargo,” Elsa said.
“You recognized the notice.”
“I’ve been looking for one.”
She was older than the child he remembered hearing Jalen mention. Old enough to arrive without an escort and make her own preparations. Young enough that he could not avoid calculating how many years had passed while he called certain journeys inconvenient.
