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Chapter 717: Mercantile’s matters (1)
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... n a forgotten home, thick and still. Ivaylo sat straight-backed in the simple wooden chair, his fine cloak falling neatly around him, his hands folded atop his knee in practiced poise. Yet his eyes watched the man across the desk with increasing unease.
Aron said nothing at first. He remained focused on a piece of parchment, his tired eyes scanning the lines with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Occasionally, he glanced up at Ivaylo, just for a second, long enough to seem as though measuring s ...
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