Pell was standing in the doorway.
How long he had been there, Mara had no idea. He must have come from the shelter side, through the gap at the curtain’s end, while the room was shouting. He stood in the doorway between the guild hall’s cleared end and the shelter with his coat still on, buttoned to the chin, his slate under his arm, and he was looking at the screen.
At his own name.
Dependent, reserved berth: Pell Venn, age 14. Attached to household of essential technician. Pending.
The delegates nearest the door saw him. One of them, the bakery delegate, half-rose and gestured at an empty chair. Pell stayed standing in the doorway. The delegates shifted their chairs to make room around him anyway, the way people shifted for someone at a funeral.
Mara met his eyes across the room. He said nothing.
She turned to the screen.
“I’m going to read this entry,” she said. “Aloud. For the record.”
