Urias shifted, ready to speak again, but the sound of a cane striking stone cut him short.
Casalus came into view at the alley mouth, dragging his leg with that same uneven gait. Five men followed behind, faces set, eyes fixed on the two bodies sprawled by the crates.
Lucian's lips curved faintly. "Ah. Time to leave."
Casalus didn't laugh. He scanned the alley, then Urias, then Lucian. His voice carried, pitched for ears outside the shadows. "Two of mine on the floor. My books missing coin. And the pair of you standing clean. Looks like my generosity's been repaid in spit."
Urias's hand twitched at his sleeve, but he didn't step back. He knew the rules; Casalus wouldn't dare break a noble in full view of the street.
Lucian stayed where he was, shoulders loose, eyes fixed on Casalus. He breathed through the ache from earlier blows but kept his face unreadable. He wouldn't call the pact here. That was for survival, not theatre.
