Tena Voss recognized the exchanger drawing before she recognized Iven.
She stood under the dry awning at Harp Station, holding a mug in one hand and a union tool case in the other. Her eyes went to the copied measurements Elian had spread on the bench, then to the altered lower seam Raisa had marked at the market.
“That one’s ours,” she said.
Iven looked up.
“The northern variant?”
“The one everyone calls northern because nobody can remember which workshop made the second set. I’ve been arguing about that margin since last spring.”
“Raisa Tann gave me her field measurements.”
“Then she finally found someone going in a useful direction.”
