She collapsed slowly, gradually huddling to the floor, where she knelt and moaned and rocked. He looked at her in disgust, raising his fist reflexively, but he struck the wall instead. Tearing his jacket from the hook, he flung the door open with enough force to make it thump loudly against the wall, then slammed it closed again with equally brutal impact, shutting himself out of the house and into an early, cloudy twilight with a pale gray drizzle. He paused on the doorstep, one point of tension and turmoil in a peaceful, neutral scene, his chest heaving and his entire body shaking.

His breathing calmed, and he pulled on the jacket slowly, but he still shook. He turned toward the docks and walked the familiar road, now obscured and eerie in the misty rain.

“This is it,” Miranda whispered. “That’s the jacket he was wearing when they found the body, and that was when she claimed she saw him last. This is the day he died.”

Chance exchanged a startled glance with his brother above Miranda’s head.

“Keep on,” the Trickster breathed, too fascinated to remember his usual cynical nonchalance. “See how far we can get with this one.”

It was bad luck, perhaps, that Niko was so distraught, because he took to the narrower alleys of the City in his desperation to avoid the few people who were out in the clammy, unpleasant weather. He turned up his hood and walked on in a dream as the pale gray became dark gray and the streetlights came on. Their light illuminated the fine droplets close by but failed to penetrate deeper, and Niko was soon walking from island to island of reality, disappearing from their sight each time he entered the shadowed space between lamps.

It took him some time to notice the footsteps with his hood up and the rain falling on it with a light sibilance. Nor did Niko call out when he did notice. The man did not look dangerous. He held no weapon. He merely ambled slowly along the road, head down and shoulders hunched under his raincoat, and stopped a few meters before he reached Niko.

“Niko Tsavian?” he inquired. “Former supply master on the merchant ship Winter Sun?”

Niko paused, turned slightly, and squinted through the drizzle. “Yes. Who wants me?”

“We do.”