"You're going to Pelusium, aren't you?"
A voice cut through the din of the tavern.
Nathan turned his head. The man who had spoken was seated right beside him—a figure who had, until now, remained quiet.
The stranger smirked at him, his eyes gleaming.
Nathan scoffed, tilting his head slightly as he regarded the man with an unimpressed expression. "What do you think?" he asked mockingly, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. He had no patience for eavesdroppers, much less those who thought they could involve themselves in his business.
The stranger, unfazed by Nathan's tone, took another leisurely sip from his cup, a smirk playing on his lips. "I think," he drawled, "that you're indeed heading to Pelusium. You seem rather interested in meeting Pompey, though I have to wonder—why?"
Nathan's eyes darkened, his patience thinning. "That doesn't concern you."
"True," the man conceded with an amused chuckle, setting his cup down with a soft clink against the wooden table.
