The morning mist clung to the surface of the Meridian River, curling around Eliza Morgan's ferry as she guided it away from the eastern dock. At forty-five, her hands were calloused from years of working the ropes, her face lined by sun and wind, but her movements remained precise and confident. She'd been making this crossing for fifteen years now, sometimes four or five times a day, connecting two worlds that existed side by side yet remained stubbornly separate.