Fenwick read the copy in a silence that Liora did not interrupt.
She had arrived at his lodging in the harbor district before the chandler below had even opened. The street outside was still in its early rhythm, the kind that belonged to working districts before commerce fully woke.
Carters first.
Then fishmongers.
Then the chandlers.
Then, much later, the retail shops that only functioned once the city itself had fully accepted the day.
Fenwick had let her in without comment.
No question about the hour.
No remark about urgency.
He had simply taken the copy from her, set it on the table, and made tea without being asked.
Now he was reading.
It had been forty minutes.
Liora sat across from him, watching the harbor district through the window as it shifted into motion.
Fenwick turned a page.
Then he spoke without looking up.
"He's checking the warmth."
Liora's attention snapped back. "What?"
Fenwick tapped the page she had written.
