Dirty water and rainwater follow their own paths, the treatment pools in the dock area operate day and night, even the most unpleasant smells are pressed underground.
The air carries no odor of urine, no smell of decay, only the saltiness of the sea breeze, along with a faint hint of carbolic acid, a scent not quite pleasant yet reassuring.
Louis did not speak, but sitting across from him, Eliot noticed his gaze.
The supervisor of Dawn Port still sat upright, the folder in his hands firmly resting on his knees: "Sir, it's not because they're innately clean-loving, it's the effect of the 'Red Tide Code'."
Louis lifted his eyes slightly.
Eliot continued: "In other ports, dock laborers live in pigsties, earn copper coins as daily wages, and whether they get a hot meal tomorrow depends on the employer's mood. In Red Tide, we provide allocated housing and a monthly salary system.
