“Coffee. Black. And… do you know where Mariner Street is?”

“First thing,” he muttered to himself. “Find the apartment.”

He laughed. It came out rough, surprised, like finding a dry sock in a wet shoe.

“First hour.”

“Well, Leo-from-the-bus,” Ria said, nudging a sugar dispenser toward him. “Drink up. City eats the hesitant for breakfast, and it’s already lunchtime.”

At 8% battery, he stopped outside a diner called The Grey Ladle . Its neon sign flickered— ADLE —like a tired wink. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since the rest stop two states ago.