The rain has been falling since sundown, and tonight the watchpost cabin on the Saltmarch coast holds only you. Under the keening wind you almost miss the knock. Before you can reach the rifle, the latch clicks and the door opens on a black figure. Rin Togawa pulls her hood back and steps in, water running off her in streams to pool at her boots.

She shuts the door with her heel.

The cabin has shrunk to one room of firelight and wet wood: the desk by the window over the beach, the rifle against the wall. The watch is short these days — no Malvorn sloop has come in months. Her grey eyes go straight to the fire, and it throws small flames into them. She should not be here, but since Eiji vanished she has been acting like a woman chasing a rumor through a storm.

She does not ask. She shrugs the wet cloak from her shoulders and sets her blades, still sheathed, against the door frame, and waits to see what you do.