“Hm? Oh, no. I don’t.” Jeryd surfaced from the depths of a murky thought to consider Rayner’s question. There was nothing obvious in sight. “Maybe it’s in the kitchen.”

It was a smart move, to identify all available exits. If they were serious about this, they needed to know from which directions to anticipate any sudden threats, and to execute a swift getaway. Truth be told, Jeryd had been too distracted by the newness of his surroundings to spot a back door - a failing, on his part.

As it was, however, he was more interested in the toady waitress with the saggy jowls and an unnatural tower of ginger hair. With her kitchen staff, she spoke in riddles, which meant she was well-versed at communicating in code. And her demeanour was altogether off.

His eyes followed her as she shuffled to one of the tables with a fresh round of stimcaf, droning like a low-powered droid. Once she was out of earshot, he said, “It’s her. I know it.”

He leaned in, and proceeded in an undertone, “No eye contact. No customer service. She clearly has no interest in her job. She has to be involved.”