While Kael was absorbed in thought, a sudden shout cut through the quiet street like a whip.
"Useless bastard! Don't you dare crawl back here again!"
Another voice snarled, sharp and mocking. "Go cry to your fancy books, traitor. Maybe they'll give you a spine!"
Then came the thud of flesh hitting cobblestone—followed by laughter.
Kael turned instinctively toward the commotion, mildly annoyed.
Not exactly the kind of noise you want near your business plans.
A man was being hurled out of a small workshop, his body hitting the ground hard. Dust flew up from the impact.
"Get out, you bastard! You hear me? You're done! You're lucky I don't smash your damn face in!"
The speaker was a heavyset man with arms like barrels and an oily apron. Three others stood behind him, laughing.
One kicked a bucket at the fallen man. Another spat at his boots. Kael raised a brow. Ah yes. The Local Idiot Union.
