If Abia takes any offense at the barber’s casual derision of the dragon, her former boss, she doesn’t show it. Her face still has the vague glaze of a daydream.
“Well the dragon wasn’t the nicest, uh, fellow,” Shyan says. “But he did pay us.” She lobs a small sack of coins and Montague fumbles in catching it. His fatigued face suddenly lights up.