The dinghy scraped against worn wooden planks as Raven tied it off at the harbor. Her fingers moved through the familiar motions of securing the boat while her cat-like eyes swept the docks. From the Crimson Sparrow, Orellia had looked like any other backwater settlement. Up close, the differences hit her like cold water.
No chaos. No drunken pirates stumbling between buildings or threatening merchants in broad daylight. Instead, men in green bandanas moved with purpose, carrying supplies, checking manifests, directing traffic with the efficiency of a military operation. The amber dust that coated everything glinted in the morning sun, but beneath that golden sheen lay something far more organized than she'd expected.
This isn't a pirate occupation. It's an administration.
Raven adjusted her hat, making sure her distinctive hair remained hidden, and stepped onto the dock. A young man with a clipboard approached immediately.
"Name and business?" he asked, his tone polite but firm.
