At the center is a tall, round metal table encircled with a ring of stools. The only light in the room comes from the yellow-tinted lamp hanging directly overhead, casting the corners of the room into shadow. By habit, I check each of them in turn before seating myself on one of the stools. Once I do, the old man is already gone, and the single door is closed.

As soon as I’m alone, my fidgeting breaks out in full force. First a finger tapping a beat on the table, then a leg jumping in place, then a soft whistling under my breath. Eventually, I jump to my feet and begin to pace in front of the eerie Primus mural. Again and again, my thoughts return to my family and what will happen if I’m late. Lyre is capable enough to handle a routine sale on her own, though her aloof attitude won’t earn her any friends along the way. The twins, though… the twins rarely manage to stick to plans, and even more rarely listen to Lyre’s voice of reason. In fact, they’re more likely to do the opposite to spite her, and she still hasn’t picked up on that over the years. Without me there, the deal will be at least twice as likely to end in excess bloodshed and a severe lack of compensation. And of course, Momma will blame me, like usual.

As soon as I hear the telltale clunk that means the door’s about to open, I scramble back to the table, throw myself onto a stool, and assume a pose of casual relaxation. I can’t have myself appearing nervous in front of a potentially skittish client. When she enters the room, her hood up and her face covered by a scarf, I slowly get to my feet, stretch, and flash a smile. As usual, she’s dressed in the height of Gaian fashion, wearing a hooded white dress with stiff, squared-off shoulders and burnished silver buttons down one side.

“Hello, hello.” I throw out a gloved hand to shake, quickly remember that isn’t something Gaians consider polite after the plague, and cross my arms in an X over my chest in their traditional greeting instead. “Whoops, just got back from Deva,” I say, both to smooth over the social blunder and pique her interest in what I brought. “Apologies about contacting you during the workday.”

“It’s not a problem,” Shey says, returning the formal greeting. “I told work I had woken up with a cough, and they quite vehemently insisted I stay home.”

She pulls back her hood and smiles warmly at me. My heart beats faster in response, just like it did the first time I saw her a year ago, throwing away my latest profit in a ritzy Itsennen bar.