A brass wage token clicked against Vanna's stall as Hajin passed between the apple crates.
Vanna left the token lying there, both hands folded beneath her apron like the thing might bite her fingers off. Toby leaned his bow against a post and turned the token, stamp up, with the patience of a hungry archer.
"Municipal wage chit," he said, tapping the stamp without pushing the disk any closer, "one of eighty issued after the sunrise timber shift, and I helped there before taking relief at the watch."
Vanna looked past him toward the town hall, where a redemption notice hung beside the door.
She rubbed her thumb along her apron seam instead of reaching for the brass, "I took ducal paper during the regent's war, and six months later the magistrates fled while my cupboards held their promises."
"Hah, smart lady," Hajin snorted, stopping so the lane stayed clear behind him, "that's reason enough to ask what you're getting before a single apple changes hands."
