This was his opening. He moved through the crowd, carefully steering conversations away from himself and toward their craft. Over the next few hours, he immersed himself in their world.
He met nearly ten of them, ranging from elderly men whose families had sewn garments for generations to younger artisans who had fled the dying textile factories to start their own boutiques.
He didn't mention his designs. He didn't mention the "Sovereign Suit" or his need for specialised, Qi-conductive fabrics.
He simply listened, learning about the tension of different threads, the way certain dyes interacted with a wearer's aura, and the struggles of sourcing quality silk in a town under siege.
He was building a foundation of trust, playing the long game with the patience of a man who knew that a single misstep would ruin his cover.
