"So you're still playing the same game,"
Mike slammed his goblet down on the table. Some of the wine spilled over, soaking the edge of the map. His eyes narrowed as he sized me up.
"What game would that be, eh?" he asked. His voice carried both a challenge and a hint of impatience.
I placed my finger on one of the red marks on the map. "Caravan routes. One goes missing, another gets robbed, and one mysteriously vanishes from the records. You're still choking trade to death, forcing merchants to depend on you for profit. An old habit from the early days, Mike. But it looks like child's play now."
Suddenly, he grew serious, his eyes narrowing further and the scar on his face becoming more pronounced. "That game was my way of surviving, Leo. And you know that full well."
