I tightened my grip on the hilt. His words were rough, but his intent was clear.
"…Then I'll accept it gratefully."
"Gratitude?" He finally turned, lips curved in that familiar crooked grin. "Think of it as a graduation gift… for my successor."
The words lingered, heavier than the loot between us.
For a long moment, I just stared at him.
The word successor dug deeper than I expected.
"You make it sound like you're retiring tomorrow," I said.
He gave a sharp snort, shifting the weight of his bundle onto his shoulder with one arm. "Hah. Haven't you been listening? I am retiring. Losing your right arm isn't exactly a career setback you walk off. I'd rather keep my neck than cling to my pride."
"…And you're fine with that?"
"Fine?" His grin faltered for the first time. A shadow passed through his eyes, brief but undeniable. "No. But life's not about being fine, kid. It's about surviving long enough to laugh about not being fine."
