Elaine waited near the low stone wall by the market entrance, shifting her weight as people flowed around her.
She had traded her usual tailored jacket for a simple brown coat cut for practicality, the sleeves rolled to the elbow to reveal forearms that could still look like an invitation to steady someone rather than a threat.
Her boots were scuffed and flat, the laces tied in a quick, efficient knot. The change was functional, but deliberate—she'd padded her shoulders with a spare cloth to give a less refined silhouette, and the turquoise dye at her roots—swept into a rough, shoulder-length bob—softened the verdict her face usually delivered to strangers.
A narrow, dark scarf hid the collar where the last of the contract-bound marks might show.
She kept her hands curled around a satchel as if she feared the crowd might pluck something from it.
