"Out on business," the man replied, his voice carrying a clipped calmness, as though he were practiced in offering just enough truth to silence curiosity.
"I see…" Zyran drawled, his gaze flicking briefly to the man's dark attire, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. "And are you as skilled as he is?" His tone was even, almost careless, yet beneath it ran an undercurrent of sharp challenge, like steel hidden beneath velvet.
"If it would please Your Highness," the man answered smoothly. His voice dipped into a respectful hush as he lowered himself to one knee. Fingers precise and unhurried, he began sorting the fabric and tools laid before him, each movement neat as though rehearsed a hundred times before.
Zyran gave no outward sign of approval or suspicion. Instead, he lifted his hand with the smallest motion, a signal so subtle it might have been mistaken for an idle scratch of his jaw. Ali caught it instantly.
