Elias let his eyes moved. The roof, the truck bed, the shack slit, the far side concrete support where someone might lay prone. The scope barrel wandered again. Not a danger until someone smarter told him to calm down.
"What's the rate today?" Alexei asked through his window. Tone mild enough to pass for polite if you wanted to pretend.
"Same as yesterday," white shirt answered without looking at him. "Ninety percent. Trucks. Weapons. Her." His chin lifted the smallest amount at Sera as if he was pointing with his face to avoid the work of lifting a hand.
Sera leaned her forearms on the rolled bar, her hair in her face, eyes bright the way they got when she smelled a bad choice about to bleed.
She smiled like someone reading the punchline ahead of the room.
Elias's own mouth didn't move.
