Crestmar Wharf had changed in small, quiet ways. The kind that slipped in unnoticed over weeks, then seemed permanent the moment you blinked.
New canopies stretched over the main square now, not for rain, but to soften the sun. Stone merchants had moved inland, displaced by a fresh outcrop of rare fruit traders that drew long lines from the coastal islets. The sea breeze didn't smell like fish today. It carried spices and burnt sugar, faint hints of distant lands, and the warm weight of a thriving port.
Arthur stood near the edge of the market, a leather satchel hanging against his hip, half full with dried goods and polished rootstones. The rest of the list wasn't his concern.
Aleks had taken it with a wave and a grin, saying something about wanting to argue prices just to see if his charm still worked. He was halfway through the stalls now, already bartering with the pepper vendor and getting waved at by old women selling pickled eels.
