People living alone for that long could find the isolation very difficult if they lacked either health or the energy to go out and socialize. Or the money. Going out and being social required money. Money for drinks, money for food, money to go see the open-air plays that were the only plays Kaylin had ever watched. There was very little that was free in the city. Kaylin wasn’t certain what Mrs. Erickson did for money; she suspected it had something to do with sewing, knitting or similar activities, but hadn’t actually asked. Mrs. Erickson was of a generation in which talk of money and money problems was considered socially very rude. Or so Kaylin had been told by one of the older Hawks who didn’t mind manning this desk.

Kaylin was fine with lonely old women who brought baked bribes. It was better than people like Margot.

“You’ve noticed his belt, haven’t you?” Mrs. Erickson asked.

Kaylin, mouth full, nodded. She was good at swallowing food in a hurry, which would be considered an essential life skill by most of the Hawks. “It’s actually not a belt.”

“Well, no, I didn’t think so, given how much it glows. It’s magic, is it?”

The belt did not glow in Kaylin’s vision. “I think it must be. But it’s attached to two weapons on either end of the chain, and it can be used—in an emergency—as a shield against magic.”

“Against magic?”

“Sometimes criminals are armed with magical devices. Illegal devices,” she added quickly. “A shield against magic can save lives.”

“I see. Well, I’m sure he’s an excellent partner, but I made note of him because of the...weapon.” She sat in the chair in front of the desk, not as if she owned it, but as if she was honored to be a guest. “But I’m glad you’re at the desk today, because I have a report to make, and it involves your partner.

“Some of my friends have noticed him, and I believe they’re concerned.”

Kaylin struggled not to ask obvious questions. As she reached for ink, she brushed crumbs off the desk. Mrs. Erickson offered a rare frown.

“You’ll get mice if you do that,” she told Kaylin, her lips slightly thinned—as if mice were worse than crime. Kaylin didn’t understand the visceral hatred some people had of mice. They were tiny vermin, and generally harmless; up close they were even kind of cute.

She mumbled an apology and promised to clean up later. Under the weight of Mrs. Erickson’s silence, later became now, which at least took her away from the desk in search of a broom and a dustpan.