Day two. Wednesday. The city woke up with the confidence of something that had survived worse and would probably survive this. Clouds sat low enough to make tall buildings look like they were thinking about giving up.
Arden met Margaret at a diner that served breakfast until it decided not to, which was usually around two PM depending on the cook's mood. They took a booth in the back where the vinyl had given up matching the color it was born as and the coffee came in mugs that didn't believe in handles.
Margaret slid a folder across the table. Manila. Worn. The kind that had lived in filing cabinets that predated computers and outlived the people who'd trusted them.
"Transit security briefing," Margaret said. "Sergeant Mora came through. His captain thinks you're delusional but has agreed to a discreet evacuation protocol starting Thursday at 7:30. Seventeen minutes to clear the south concourse without causing panic."
