There was a knock on the door.
Marco froze, his steak halfway to his mouth. Pola set down his knife and fork.
"Who is that?"
"A delivery, maybe? Did you order the new console?"
"No."
The knock came again, louder this time.
Pola got up, walked to the door, and opened it.
A man in a black suit stood in the hallway.
'Ah, shit. It's him. Jax's personal secretary. We are so, so screwed.'
Pola straightened his back. "Sir. How can we help you?"
The man in the suit looked past them. "Pola, Marco. The President of the Association, and the master of the Fist King Guild, wish to have a word with you."
The words were plain, but they hit Marco like a punch reinforced with mana.
'The President?! And Jax?! No, no, no, no! It's because of that man! Luthra! They know we helped him sell the cores! We're accomplices! We're going to be stripped of our licenses! They'll throw us in the Association's prison! I'm too pretty for prison!'
