Black boots, scuffed and well worn, with thick gripping soles. Similar in construct and appearance to those the bugorra wore, to those Grainger wore himself, but more specifically, as he squatted to poke at them with his thumper as if anticipating a trap, the sort worn by those men and women who worked the filts in Hebenon’s shaft.
Skolpers. Denki. Heizers. Speners.
Bilgers.
Ballard.
The boots and shirt could have belonged to anyone. Strange things to leave behind instead of dispose of, the coat and boots valuable to someone for their quality alone. Odd things to leave because Grainger knew that comparing that coat to the footage of the Talker Streeter skirmish would verify it to be Ballard’s.
Grainger had seen him wear it before.
This was evidence he was not going to leave to some underling to collect. He would see to it himself while intensifying bugorra patrols on Levs One and Two.
Brako be damned. If Ballard was here, Grainger was going to find him. Before anyone else did.

123 on some actual writing this time!