The station — a sprawling orbital platform whose full name, according to the signage arching above the docking concourse, was Threshold Anchorage, though everyone he overheard simply called it the Anchorage — swallowed him whole within the first ten minutes.
Nothing about it resembled Veyrhold's careful, resource-starved order, nor Cael Athis's merchant Tradefalls with their temporary pavilions and rationed generosity. This was permanent. Built to last.
Corridors wide enough for a dozen people to walk abreast, lined with storefronts selling everything from ship components to exotic foodstuffs to services Rohan couldn't begin to identify from their signage alone, all of it lit by a soft, even glow that came from no single visible source.
