Robert took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. As he exhaled, a swirl of smoke drifted lazily into the air, his calm demeanor contrasting with the palpable tension at the table. He leaned forward, placing a firm hand on Sun Ping's trembling shoulder.
"My friend here, Sippy," Robert said, his voice low, yet laced with authority, "seems to have struck a deal with you."
"And it looks like you're trying to… negotiate with threats, huh?"
The burly man standing beside the woman scratched the back of his neck nervously, his earlier bravado crumbling under the pressure of Robert's gaze.
"N-no! No!" he stammered, raising his hands defensively. "We were just… sorting things out!"
Robert's eyes flicked to the woman, his stare piercing. He took another puff from his cigarette, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably before speaking again.
"Give Sippy the rest of what you owe him," he said, his tone quiet but unwavering, "or I can't guarantee either of you will leave this place alive."
The air grew heavy, as if the very room was holding its breath.
The burly man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.
The woman, for all her earlier confidence, hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly at her side.
Robert extended the cigarette toward the woman, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.
"So," he said, his voice deceptively light, "do we have a deal?"
The woman's eyes shifted to the cigarette in his hand, then to the silent patrons watching from their tables.
She knew what taking it meant—it was submission, an acknowledgment of his authority.
Slowly, she reached out and plucked the cigarette from his fingers, raising it to her lips.
As, she took a deep drag, acrid smoke filled her lungs.
Cough.
Cough.
Cough.
She doubled over, hacking violently, her face twisting in disgust.
Robert chuckled, taking the cigarette back with a steady hand.
"Welcome to Vargath," he said, his tone casual but carrying an unmistakable finality. He straightened up, brushing the ash from his blazer before stepping back.
Just then, the heavy wooden door to the hotel creaked open as three figures stepped inside.
At first glance, they looked out of place among the hardened patrons—young, restless, and slightly disheveled. Zach led the way, his sharp eyes scanning the room instinctively. For a fleeting moment, his gaze locked with Robert's.
It was just a second, but in that instant, Zach's breath hitched, and without a word, he turned sharply and hurried toward the stairs. Danny and Tia followed close behind, their footsteps quick and anxious as they disappeared into one of the rooms upstairs.
Robert watched them go, his expression unreadable.
He took one last puff from his cigarette, letting it burn down to the filter before crushing it under his boot.
The burly man and the woman remained frozen in place, their earlier swagger entirely gone and the quiet murmur of the other patrons slowly resumed.
...
"Robert learns none of this!" Zach growled, his glare sharp and unyielding as it bounced between Tia and Danny.
Tia hesitated, her voice trembling as she asked, "What about Matilda?"
Zach's expression darkened further, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He didn't answer, but his silence was enough to make Tia shift uncomfortably. Unable to direct her frustration at Zach, she turned her fury onto Danny.
"This is all your fault, you bastard! You useless, pathetic shit!" she spat venomously, her voice rising with each word. Her face twisted with rage as she took a step toward him.
"I'll kill you!"
Danny recoiled, his eyes wide with fear as he stumbled back. "T-Tia, wait!" he stammered, raising his hands in a feeble attempt to placate her.
But Tia wasn't listening. She lunged toward him, her anger boiling over.
Thunk!
A knife embedded itself into the wall mere inches from Tia's face, stopping her dead in her tracks.
It had passed cleanly between her and Danny, the blade still quivering from the force of the throw. Both froze, their eyes darting to the source.
Zach stood a few feet away, his hand still raised from the throw, his glare colder than steel. "Enough!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tension like the blade itself.
Danny stumbled back further, clutching his chest as he muttered shakily, "I… I'm so sorry."
"Shut the fuck up, both of you!" Zach snapped, his voice heavy with exhaustion and frustration.
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
Tia glowered at Danny, her rage still simmering, while Danny looked at her with a mix of guilt and terror. Neither dared speak as Zach dropped into one of the large leather sofas, pulling off his cap and exposing the bloodied wound on his temple.
With a heavy sigh, he began tending to his injury. His movements were methodical, almost mechanical, as though the pain was a distant emotion he had no time to acknowledge.
Danny and Tia, still fuming, eventually settled into the worn leather armchairs scattered across the dimly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of iron and sweat, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood.
The enclosed space was cluttered with random trinkets—coins, bent spoons, rusted gears—all items considered trash in Valthar but treasures in Vargath's underground economy.
Danny winced as he inspected his left hand, swollen and bruised from the chaos of the earlier explosion. Tia gritted her teeth as she tied a makeshift bandage around her injured leg.
Suddenly, The room's tense silence was broken by the creak of the door.
All three heads snapped toward it, their bodies tensing instinctively. A shadow fell across the threshold, followed by the sound of deliberate, heavy footsteps.
The figure stepped into the dim light, his orange blazer unmistakable. It was Robert.