Luke Marshall followed the slow creep of the line forward toward the boat, carrying a large, heavy brown suitcase in one hand. He had a worried, slightly anxious look as if he wasn't quite sure of what he was doing, but there was also a shadow of something cat-like about him, confident and aloof as he looked out over the chilly docks.
A faded cap was pulled low over his short blond hair, and though the rest of his clothes looked slightly out of place for a worker, they showed enough signs of wear to blend in. The collar of his heavy tan jacket didn't quite conceal the thin white scars running vertically just below the left side of his jaw, clawmarks that had been light but were too widely spaced for anything but a very large animal to have made them.
A voice stirred within his mind, one that some part of him wanted to insist wasn't real. It still wasn't a voice he had come to trust, but he had learned to pay it close attention. You will do fine, Sher Bay-ta, if you will keep in mind that you are not free, yet. He silently agreed, and lowered his gaze to the slow-moving line in front of him.
Luke didn't think his father would send anyone to look for him here, not at first anyway. But there was always a slight chance that someone working for his father might recognize him. It wouldn't stop him from leaving but it could make it much more difficult for him to start over in America once he got there.
He looked up again as a man who introduced himself as Cenek tried to slip into the line several places ahead of him. He listened with interest to the talk and introductions that followed, wondering as he took in their various appearances what might have brought them here. Though most here no doubt had legitimate reasons and means for making the trip to America, he doubted that he was the only one here who was running from something.