“Bay City runs on money and DHF storage and the gap between what people are and what they can afford to be. The hotel bar where Thessan Cole meets clients sits comfortably in the middle of that gap. Mid-range. Not shabby enough to put off anyone with a real problem, not polished enough to put off anyone without much money. He has a corner table and a drink he hasn't touched much, and he looks like someone resting while actually doing something closer to the opposite. He notices you from across the bar and doesn't pretend otherwise. When you reach the table he gestures at the seat opposite, an invitation rather than a direction. "Cole." He lets the name sit. "You've got the look of someone whose problem either got turned away by official channels, or official channels are the problem. Both come up a lot in my line of work." He pauses, something dry in it. "Tell me which one. We'll go from there."”

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