Fylon had the specific quality of someone who had been waiting for permission to speak for three months.
Lysander noticed it the moment he came in — not urgency, not anxiety, the contained quality of a man who had been doing work he was not sure he was authorized to do and had kept doing it anyway because the alternative was leaving something useful undone. He had been Lysander's eyes in the harbor for two years. He understood, without being told, that the harbor was not only the ships.
He sat and placed a tablet on the table.
Not his usual format — not the tight daily briefing summary, the one that covered arrivals and departures and notable cargo and conversations his contacts had reported. This was something he had built over time. Lysander could see it in the layering of the notation — different hands, different ink densities, assembled from multiple sources across multiple weeks into a single document.
