Atlas left the palace through a side gate just after mid-morning. He wore a plain dark coat, worn boots, and no insignia. The guards on duty knew the look. They said nothing. He had done this before. The city ran better when the man who held the center sometimes walked it like anyone else.
He took the long route through the market district. Stall keepers were already calling prices. The smell of fresh bread mixed with horse and the faint sweetness of late-season fruit. Atlas moved with the crowd, neither hurrying nor lingering.
A few faces turned toward him with the vague recognition of someone who looked familiar but could not be placed. Most people simply stepped aside and kept talking.
He stopped at a grain stall and bought a small bag of roasted nuts from an old woman who had sold the same product in the same spot for thirty years. She counted the coins twice, then squinted at him.
"New to the capital?" she asked.
"Something like that," Atlas said.
