Ra'a'mah
Baroness
Merrick's had not changed in any way that mattered.
From the street, it still looked like an unremarkable tapcafe tucked into one of Keren's older arteries, close enough to the spaceport to catch passing pilots and couriers, far enough into the side streets to avoid dignitaries and spectacle. Inside, it was still all polished wood, muted lighting, and quiet corners built for conversations that preferred not to be overheard. It was a place for deals, reunions, and careful truths.
Ra'a'mah entered alone.
Her copper-red hair was worn loose tonight, falling neatly over her shoulders, catching the soft amber light without demanding attention. She was dressed in understated, professional attire rather than ceremony: a fitted dark blue jacket over a charcoal blouse, tailored trousers, and low-heeled boots suited for walking city streets as easily as command decks. The fabric was high quality but unadorned, chosen for comfort and credibility rather than display. No insignia. No visible symbols of rank. Only a slim datapad tucked under one arm and a simple bracelet at her wrist.
She did not pause to survey the room.
She already knew where she was going.
Her gaze found Joran Del Finn easily behind the bar, where he belonged, framed by shelves of bottles and familiar machinery, part of the place as much as the walls themselves. Time had passed since she had last stood in this room with him, but some things did not need relearning.
She crossed the floor at an unhurried pace, neither hesitant nor presumptive, stopping at the edge of the counter rather than immediately claiming a seat. Close enough to speak without raising her voice. Far enough to respect that this was still his domain.
"Joran," she greeted, her voice calm, warm, and unmistakably sincere. "It has been a long time."
A faint, restrained smile touched her lips, not nostalgic, not guarded. Simply honest.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me."
She rested one hand lightly on the counter, posture composed and open.
"I hope I'm not catching you at a bad moment."
Joran Del-Finn
From the street, it still looked like an unremarkable tapcafe tucked into one of Keren's older arteries, close enough to the spaceport to catch passing pilots and couriers, far enough into the side streets to avoid dignitaries and spectacle. Inside, it was still all polished wood, muted lighting, and quiet corners built for conversations that preferred not to be overheard. It was a place for deals, reunions, and careful truths.
Ra'a'mah entered alone.
Her copper-red hair was worn loose tonight, falling neatly over her shoulders, catching the soft amber light without demanding attention. She was dressed in understated, professional attire rather than ceremony: a fitted dark blue jacket over a charcoal blouse, tailored trousers, and low-heeled boots suited for walking city streets as easily as command decks. The fabric was high quality but unadorned, chosen for comfort and credibility rather than display. No insignia. No visible symbols of rank. Only a slim datapad tucked under one arm and a simple bracelet at her wrist.
She did not pause to survey the room.
She already knew where she was going.
Her gaze found Joran Del Finn easily behind the bar, where he belonged, framed by shelves of bottles and familiar machinery, part of the place as much as the walls themselves. Time had passed since she had last stood in this room with him, but some things did not need relearning.
She crossed the floor at an unhurried pace, neither hesitant nor presumptive, stopping at the edge of the counter rather than immediately claiming a seat. Close enough to speak without raising her voice. Far enough to respect that this was still his domain.
"Joran," she greeted, her voice calm, warm, and unmistakably sincere. "It has been a long time."
A faint, restrained smile touched her lips, not nostalgic, not guarded. Simply honest.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me."
She rested one hand lightly on the counter, posture composed and open.
"I hope I'm not catching you at a bad moment."
Joran Del-Finn