The diner was Elara's pick. She chose it because it was loud, because the booths had high backs, and because a Defense Force uniform drew no second looks three blocks from a barracks.
The man in the booth was a sergeant. Fifties, gray at the temples, a coffee he had not touched going cold in front of him. He had taken his cap off and set it on the table, crown down, which Caleb would think about later, because a man keeps his cap on when he is on duty and takes it off when he has decided to be a person instead.
"Caleb, this is Sergeant Okafor," Elara said. "He came to me. I checked him out three different ways before I let him near you. He's clean." She put a hand on Caleb's shoulder for a second. "I'm going to sit at the counter. You two talk. If anyone walks in wearing the wrong badge, I'll know before they reach the door."
She went. Okafor's eyes followed her to the counter. Then he turned the cold coffee a quarter-turn and left it where it was.
