"What!"
Thin streams of pale liquid trickled across the polished wood, seeping into the seams between the planks, but Sage hardly noticed.
He was half-leaning forward on the couch, his shoulders tense and spine rigid, eyes wide and unfocused as if something invisible had struck him square in the chest.
For a fleeting moment, the Guildmaster, who had deftly manipulated an entire hall of hardened warriors and calmly discussed dungeons, nobles, and future wars, appeared to be just a man who had miscalculated something far beyond his control.
Then his breathing steadied. The shock retreated behind his eyes, replaced by that familiar calculating glint.
Sage straightened up, brushed imaginary dust from his robe, and carefully returned the teacup from the table to its saucer, as though restoring order to this small object might somehow stabilize everything else.
