The midnight bell reached Hajin beneath the barred workshops of Weaver's Alley while river fog smeared every lamp behind him. He tugged the sling higher between steps until the strap stopped biting his shoulder, then watched the pale roofline ahead.
'Warm belly, useless arm, and a cider buzz that's already packing up to leave me.'
'Four days in that cart, palace steps, hearing chairs, Didi's evening, and my legs still want to bargain.'
He found his footing before the next turn, knowing the inn sat close while rest still lay beyond these workshops.
Through the bond, three familiar presences waited exactly where he expected them, one district farther along his route.
He knew the shutters under a fish merchant's awning, remembering the storm he sat out beneath it two years ago.
'I waited for dawn under that thing and nobody paid me, so this alley can keep its fucking sympathy.'
He left the awning behind and slowed where the corner opened into the weavers' passage.
