They called it a “port compact.” Nora mocked up two pages that read like relief: reopen the docks, pay the vendors, publish a full audit, stop the quiet raids. In return, Emilia would suspend further leaks, match the trauma-wing donation through a clean fund, and put a public liaison in the union hall to mediate disputes before anyone reached for a gun.
“Short. Boring. Hard to wiggle out of,” Nora said, tapping the header.
“Good,” Emilia answered. “Boredom means fewer funerals.”
Rafael watched her sign the bottom of page two. “He’ll look for a camera. Give him one.”
“There will be cameras,” Nora said. “Same reporter as before. Live cut from Pier Nine.”
Emilia stood, smoothing the front of her jacket. Rafael reached without thinking and straightened the line of her collar. They met eye
