The civic hold bought them three hours and a yellow line across the street.
Everything south of it belonged to arguments.
Defense Force carriers waited at the intersection with their engines running cold. Voss vans sat behind them, cameras raised, careful to remain outside the magistrate tape. Two city clerks in gray coats stood under a portable awning and pretended the rain had not soaked their shoes.
Soma drove past all of them in a delivery truck that smelled of onions.
No one complained.
Complaining used air.
Rina sat on the floor between stacked crates, tracker braced on her knees. Iharu sat beside her with one shoulder against the wall and one hand open near her sleeve. He had learned not to touch unless she reached first.
She reached once when the truck crossed the first curb seam.
He took her hand.
Kikaru watched the rear doors through a gap in the crates.
"Two black cars pulled in after us," she said.
Soma kept both hands on the wheel. "Voss?"
