The stall shimmered faintly in the midmorning light, tucked beneath one of House Seravin's ivy-covered archways like a relic refusing to be forgotten.
Theo sat hunched behind the vendor terminal, fingers tapping against his mug. He wasn't even looking at the screen—just waiting.
Raven leaned beside a worn pillar across from the stall, arms folded, watching in silence. He hadn't spoken since dropping the items three hours ago.
He didn't like waiting. Not because he was impatient—he had endured week-long tracking ops during his peak—but because waiting meant trusting someone else to move the board. That part never came easy.
Theo was casual, even relaxed. Coffee in hand, tapping through menus like he was managing a fantasy football league, not a black-market operation.
But Raven wasn't fooled.
The man's touch on the merchant interface was surgical—clean, practiced, no wasted clicks. Someone with a real-world background in finance, maybe?
