Council holding smelled like bleach and old lies. The rogue we'd dragged from the service road sat cuffed to a steel ring in the floor, ankle shackled, mouth swollen. He looked pleased to be indoors.
Miriam stood behind the table. Rowan shuffled papers he pretended were a shield. Crispin had a pen in his teeth because he couldn't smoke here. Kevin leaned against the wall like a patient threat. Jones stood, arms crossed, a statue that remembered movement.
“State your name," Miriam said.
“Pass," the rogue grinned.
“Record him as Unknown pending verification," Miriam told the clerk. She turned back. “You're here under Council authority. Speak, or we downgrade courtesy."
He rolled his shoulder as if he'd been asked for poetry. “Ask better questions."
“I'll start," Kevin said. “Who sold t
