The air inside Logan's office felt denser than before, the polished oak desk between the two men serving as a silent battlefield where neither wished to lose ground. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, blending with the faint ticking of the wall clock—a rhythm that seemed to mock the tension lingering in the room.
Kaidren leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, assessing every twitch of Logan's features. Then, breaking the heavy stillness with words that cut through the air like a blade, Kaidren spoke.
"So," his tone was calm, almost detached, "what's your price on buying my potion… with the formula?"
It wasn't a casual question—it was the signal Logan had been waiting for. Kaidren's plain voice carried no inflection, no sign of excitement, no clue as to whether this was truly serious or just another layer of negotiation. Yet to Logan, it sounded like a door creaking open to a future he had dreamed of.
