Cassandra's comment still hung in the air as they moved into a narrower street, a jagged corridor between buildings too old to be beautiful and too new to be considered historic. There, the flow of people was less organized, more rough, made up of poorly disguised shoves, deliberately wide elbows, and glances that assessed risk and opportunity simultaneously. It was the kind of place where nobody apologized for bumping into someone—because it was almost never an accident.
Strax walked at the same leisurely pace as before, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, completely out of place in that setting. Cassandra and Daniela, on the other hand, had already instinctively adjusted their bodies, steps slightly firmer, attention too focused to seem casual. They knew that kind of street. They knew that kind of people.
Then someone bumped into Strax.
