Vell left Dema Vale waiting beside the curb until the last applicant cleared the alley. The silver trace inside her paperwork had stayed quiet beneath his ledger, which meant whoever planted it expected patience from their target.
He raised the shutter wide to allow her inside, then locked it behind her. Dema looked first at the treatment tarp, then at Yenna's chains, as though measuring which refusal would hurt less.
"Your report carried a Directorate trace," Vell said, placing the form before her, "it was listening for this workshop."
Dema left the paper untouched on the counter beside the intake slate. Her hand went to the damaged hip instead, pressing through the cloth until her fingers went pale.
"Does that make me the bait?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the silver spiral he had circled.
"It makes the paper bait," he replied, tapping the mark, "you get to choose whether it stays here."
