By the time the Anchorage's artificial lighting cycled toward its evening dimming, Rohan had learned exactly one useful thing: legitimate work on a station this size required documentation he had no legal way of obtaining, which meant his only realistic path forward ran through exactly the kind of informal economy Odris had warned him about, or through finding something — anything — of tangible value he could convert directly into the kind of resources that didn't ask questions about who he was or where he'd come from.
'Which brings me back to Bryan's packet. It might be the only real currency I actually have.'
