Morning came in grey and waterlogged, as though the city had volunteered to set the mood for Blackwater Yard.
Neo reached Gray Hand before the sun had finished hauling itself over Arandom. The building wore the hour badly, dark stone slick with thin rain, the silver handprint above the doors catching the streetlight in a dull smear. A black transport idled by the side entrance, broad and armored without bothering to look theatrical. Gray Hand never dressed up danger. They stamped a small silver mark on the door and expected you to do the math.
Snot had beaten him there, slouched against the vehicle with a field pack drooping off one shoulder and the face of a man personally betrayed by morning.
"I read the file again," he said as Neo walked up. "The word 'leeches' shows up way more times than any civilization should allow."
Neo eyed the pack. "You showed up anyway."
"I'm brave, broke, and surrounded by terrible influences."
