“I need to speak with Mrs. Erickson,” Kaylin told the sergeant.

“Mrs. Erickson.”

The younger Hawk nodded. “I saw her home yesterday, and we had a spot of trouble from her neighbor.”

“We? As in the both of you?”

“He didn’t seem all that impressed with the Hawk, no.”

Sergeant Keele’s lips compressed, but she nodded; this was an acceptable reason to volunteer for a duty one usually avoided like the plague. “How did she react to this?”

“She tried to make excuses for me, and to point out that I was young and didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. Desk is yours.”

Mrs. Erickson tended to visit the Halls of Law in the early afternoon; Kaylin was certain she spent the mornings baking in preparation for that visit. She wondered if the children crowded into the kitchen while she worked; she suspected they did.

That meant that Kaylin was at the front desk when other, less amiable civilians visited. She dutifully wrote—by hand—the gist of their complaints, and forced herself not to doodle in the margins. Some were property disputes, which was difficult. Some demanded protection from...well, Kaylin wasn’t exactly sure what. She tried her best not to be judgmental, and that lasted about an hour.

Some were serious complaints, one involving domestic violence and children. Those she forwarded immediately to the Hawks whose investigative beat it was. And some were complaints from obviously well-heeled people who had thought it would be a lark—or a test of courage, if not a test of stupidity—to have a party in the warrens.

There was nothing outrageous enough to be humorous, and humor was one of the few rewards of the public desk—albeit a humor that sprouted from outrage and disbelief.

But Mrs. Erickson did make her way to the front desk. Only when Kaylin caught sight of her did she relax. The presence of the neighbor weighed far more heavily on her mind than she’d expected.

Mrs. Erickson was smiling. She carried her usual basket, and when she opened the lid, the smell of her baking filled the small room; it obviously extended past it, because some of Keele’s people appeared in the doorway behind Kaylin’s back.

Kaylin got up from her chair behind the desk and replaced the chair in front of it with something that was both more solid and more comfortable.

“It’s not necessary, dear.” But she took the chair as Kaylin relieved her of the basket. “Thank you for yesterday. I know Jamal wasn’t exactly friendly, but thank you for accepting that.”