The tent was quiet, save for the soft clatter of dishes and the low crackle of the brazier fire. Rashid had requested that Luke share everything he knew about the Association of Schadenfreude, and Luke had obliged. Between mouthfuls of stew and half-swallowed bread, he had spoken of their roots in Antinoirism, of their escalating brazenness, and of the devastation they left in their wake.
Now, silence settled in its place.
Rashid sat with his gaze lowered, his hand resting firmly on the table as though grounding himself. The first reaction had been subtle, a quiet nod as he finished swallowing his meal, yet it was telling. It wasn't the nod of dismissal or politeness—it was the nod of recognition. To Luke, the gesture carried weight; it confirmed that what he had said aligned with reality, that his words were not just idle speculation.
