By the time the two of them left the tailor's shop, it was nearly noon.
The sun had climbed overhead, heating the road until it was faintly hot. A lingering sea stench hung in the air, mingled with sweat and the rusty tang of fish blood, making it hard to breathe.
The alleys of the Dock District rang with voices. Porters carrying baskets of fish squeezed sideways through the crowds, while crooked stall frames lined the roadsides. The vendors shouted themselves hoarse to attract business, yet strangely few customers stopped by.
Even when someone paused at a stall, they usually only asked the price before walking away with a frown and a shake of the head.
There were far fewer fresh fish on display than a few days earlier. A handful of scrawny mackerel lay in the baskets, their eyes cloudy and their scales dull.
The reason was simple: fresh fish were growing more expensive, driving up the price of fish products across the entire island.
Over the past few days, the fishing boats at White Harbor's docks had brought back fewer and fewer sea fish, leading many fishermen to wonder whether hurricane season had arrived early.
Hurricanes symbolized the fury of Talos, the Great Destroyer. Once someone sailed away from the protected islands, the Storm God in the throes of his revelry would hardly care whether they worshipped him.
The White Harbor fishermen who depended on their catches for a living were already considering stopping work early and taking temporary jobs hauling cargo instead. Staying alive came first.
Standing on the steps, the seamstress bowed slightly to Renato in gratitude. Her hands were clasped before her apron, her fingertips still stained with charcoal dust from taking measurements. Her lips moved several times before she finally spoke softly.
"Sir, I've