The room pulsed with quiet tension, the weight of unseen calculations filling the space between them. Riven studied Veylen Deveroux as the man leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable beneath the flickering candlelight.
A handler for the Deveroux Guild wasn't just a merchant. He was a strategist, a man who knew exactly how to push, pull, and manipulate markets to the Guild's advantage. If he was here, it meant the Deveroux Guild saw value in their presence.
Or danger.
Veylen took a slow sip of his wine, eyes sharp over the rim of his glass. "The Shadow Kingdom," he repeated, as if testing the weight of the words. "That's quite the claim."
Riven smiled, slow and measured. "It's not a claim. It's a fact."
A few murmurs from nearby tables signaled that their conversation was already drawing attention. Veylen was too high-profile for subtle meetings, which meant this was a deliberate move—one meant to apply pressure.
Good. Let them listen.
