4 CROSSING OF PATHS
Anza was very aware of the man walking beside her. She watched him through her peripheral vision. He was lithe and fit, like an athlete. If she was to guess, he would be a swimmer, based on the width of his shoulders. And he was tall; her head came up to the middle of his chest. His skin had a slight tan, a sign that he enjoyed spending time outdoors. And while he seemed relaxed in his manner, he moved with a certain controlled gait that reminded her of soldiers.
“My name is Veren—Veren Albareda,” he said.
He offered his right hand to her. She stopped, looked up at him, then grasped his offered hand. His grip was warm, his hand big enough to envelop both of hers. Manual tasks had roughened his palm.
“I'm Anza,” she replied.
Her voice faltered as she took a full loo
