"It's been over three damn weeks," the first man hissed, his voice a blade drawn low. He paced back and forth across the shadowed chamber, boots scraping against rough stone. "Why the hell hasn't that bastard Kai reported back?"
Cloaked in dark fabric with a hood drawn low over his face, the man looked like a shade pulled from the underbelly of the city. The flickering candlelight cast long, restless shadows on the cracked walls, reflecting the simmering frustration etched into every movement he made.
"I don't know," the second man replied coolly, seated at a worn oak table littered with old ledgers and half-burned maps. He was dressed in similar dark garb, the fabric rough, well-used. "But losing your temper won't bring him back."
The pacing man stopped. Without a word, he slammed his gloved fist against the stone wall. Dust shook loose from the cracks. His jaw tightened under the hood, teeth clenched.
