Half an hour after leaving the truck, the three of them were sitting in a small restaurant two streets from where Howard had parked it and walked away.
The others had been pointed toward the nearest police station with the address written on a scrap of paper in Howard's hand. Whether they made it, whether the station was trustworthy, whether the consulate would respond in time: none of those questions had answers Soren could provide, and spending energy on them wasn't going to change the outcome. He'd done what he could. The rest was theirs to navigate.
He was working through a plate of fried fish and rice when the restaurant door opened and Evan and Howard came in together, slightly out of breath.
"All sorted," Evan said, sliding into the seat across from him and pushing a new phone ac
