Rumi leaned over the balcony rail while the stands roared for the match, and her ears caught one wrong sound. Taren's dispatch clerk hugged a sealed route folio beneath the stairs while a porter brushed his elbow far too gently.
'Nobody bumps a man that politely unless the other hand is already busy.'
The folio slid into a transit pocket stitched inside the porter's coat, and its carrier never even blinked.
She grabbed her sister's sleeve and jabbed a finger down past the rail, "Porter with the striped cap, he just lifted Taren's folio."
"Which porter?" Nari squinted down at the crowd, tufted ears swiveling toward the stairs.
"The one walking like he's late for nothing."
"Then he wants the service lanes and the public gate after them," Nari hissed, already loosening both daggers, "and I'll be standing in that gate first."
"You clear the exit, I'll do the chasing."
"Don't get cute with the carts."
"I'm always cute," Rumi purred, swinging one leg over the rail.
