At the Truncheon, a local watchmen’s tavern, retired officers of the law tucked themselves into the shadowy recesses of the common room, nursed their beers, and reminisced about other, either far hotter or far colder, seasons they had known. On Iron Street, Ismy and Suli Dann, expecting their first and third child respectively, took their work down to the cool, dim cellars of their tenement, while at the Iron Street Watchhouse, their husbands, Hektor and Aiden Dann of the Haven City Watch, stood on Hektor’s desk, struggling with the latch of the tiny window set high in the back wall of the Day Sergeant’s office. The two men worked in grim silence until Aiden’s fingers slipped on the slick metal, barking his knuckles against the windowsill. With a muttered curse, he shot his younger brother an exasperated look. “Give it up, Hek,” he groused, pressing his hand against his shirt—both men had tossed off their light blue and gray watchman’s tunics early on in the fight.
