To Feed the Worm God

[Noth Squadron]

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Basel Rock had a way of reminding you where you stood, and Kade Mercer let it do its work before stepping fully into the bar. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing out the vacuum-chill of the corridors and replacing it with something only marginally warmer. He did not hurry.

That alone was enough to draw eyes. He moved with the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly how late he was, and exactly who would notice. Boots crossed the stone floor without urgency, jacket still dusted with residue from the docks. No effort made to appear apologetic.

Table eight was easy to spot. Four wasn’t there yet.

'One' sat where he always did.

Interesting.

Mercer stopped short of the table, resting one hand on the back of an empty chair but not sitting. He let the moment breathe. Let the silence acknowledge him.

“Dock traffic.” he said finally, voice level, unembellished. Not an excuse, just a fact offered for the record. “Delayed inspections.”

His eyes moved briefly around the bar, cataloguing reactions rather than faces. He noted who avoided his gaze, who held it, who looked to Dirk before deciding how to respond.

Chemical work always made people nervous. Even among the Noth.

Mercer pulled the chair out and sat only after that assessment was complete, setting a slim case beside his leg rather than on the table. He didn’t open it. Didn’t need to. The implication was enough.

“Four will come.” he added, almost casually. “Or he won’t.”

Either way, the work didn’t stop.

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