Aren sat there for a while, not being able to find an answer. Not because he had settled on one, but the longer he sat there, the more the old man's question started to dig beneath his skin.
Both Miu and Stella had gone quiet, though Aren could feel their gaze flick toward him every now and then.
He hated it. So instead of thinking about it any longer, Aren turned his attention elsewhere.
A stack of paper sat across the low table and in nearby shelves, tied together using crude rope or pressed beneath old wooden weights to keep the damp ocean air from curling their edges.
Some papers were yellowed with age, while others looked recent, marked with fresh ink and uneven stamps.
Aren took a gander at some of them—licenses, registrations, fishing permits, trade declarations, and old household records seem to be the main concern in Tigan here.
But it wasn't what he was looking for. Then he turned toward the bookshelves and reached for the closest stack. "May I?"
