By 8 a.m., Ezra was already at the Grand Market of New Haven.
The market sat in the center of town, in an open field filled with tents and wooden stalls. The smell of spices, smoked meat, and raw hides blended into a distinctive scent — the smell of the frontier.
Ezra walked slowly, eyes scanning, absorbing every detail:
A butcher chopping goat meat with a large blade.
An old woman selling unfamiliar dried herbs.
Children playing chase between stalls.
Two men dressed in black sitting in a corner, drinking coffee, their eyes fixed on the market entrance.
Men in black. Ezra noted mentally. Looked like bodyguards. Or... something else.
He approached a stall selling antiques. Among the dusty items, he noticed a small stone statue — shaped like a human, but with a... strange face.
"That's a grave guardian statue," a voice said behind him.
Ezra turned. An old man stood there — long white beard, pale blue eyes, wearing a robe that looked like it hadn't been washed in years.
"Grave guardian?"
"The old people here believe every grave has a guardian. This statue... is placed on graves to calm the spirit. But..." the old man smiled. "No one believes that anymore."
Ezra studied the statue. "You're local?"
"I've lived here longer than anyone, young man. Name's Old Man Caleb."
"Alex."
"Alex. Short name. Like a bullet." Caleb chuckled. "What are you looking for in this market, Alex? Antiques? Spices? Or... stories?"
Ezra looked at him. "Stories."
"What kind?"
"Stories about... missing people."
Caleb stopped laughing. His pale blue eyes turned sharp.
"Missing people," he repeated slowly. "That's a dangerous story, young man."
"I'm a journalist. I'm looking for the truth."
Caleb laughed again — but this time bitterly. "Truth. In Frontier Territory? Truth here... it's like water in the desert. It exists, but you have to dig deep. And most of the time, what you find... isn't water, but... snakes."
"You know something, Caleb." Not a question. A statement.
Caleb glanced around. Then whispered, "Not here. Not now. They're... everywhere."
"They?"
"Eyes." Caleb nodded toward the two men in black. "The Administrator's eyes. They see everything. They hear everything."
Ezra glanced at them. One of them was staring directly at him.
"When? Where?" Ezra asked.
"Tonight. Old graveyard outside town. Road to Dustfall, third bend, there's a dead tree. I'll wait there. Eleven o'clock."
Caleb stood, took the statue, and walked away without looking back.
Ezra checked his watch.
10:47 a.m.
Twelve hours to go.