The lounge was crowded as usual, but Cal claimed the corner table and pulled out her sketchbook. It had been far too long since she had put pencil to paper.

Her fingers hadn't forgotten their skill. She put the patrons on paper. The older gentlemen drinking whisky and playing cards. A woman Cal guessed to be Crysabel's mother, looking around with a faint frown. The servers dancing between tables placing a drink there, a plate there. They all wore smiles, real ones, as Meireka had ...