The unit had claimed a corner table.
Not the main room — the back, the specific territorial acquisition of men who operated in information and had spent enough time in enough taverns to know that the difference between a main room table and a back corner was the difference between being observed and doing the observing.
The innkeeper had accommodated this without comment. People in Millbrook had apparently learned that certain things were easier not to comment on.
Six of them.
Rett had his boots off, examining a blister with the focused pragmatism of a man who had spent the day on his feet doing things he wasn't accustomed to and had the physical accounting to show for it. Fellan was drinking. The others were in various states of the specific posture that meant 'waiting for the person who makes decisions to come back and make one.'
The door opened.
Cassius.
