Richard is still staring at me when I put my hand on the door.
The money sits on the counter, glinting in small blue pieces under the bad tavern light. Zoe stands beside him, unsure whether to look at me, at the Shards, or at her father. Richard, on the other hand, has already understood enough to feel pain where there used to be only gratitude.
Fifteen percent is a good slice when you think the pie is small. When you find out the whole kitchen is running, the math turns bitter.
"You bastard," he repeats, with less force now.
"You negotiated well."
"I negotiated in the dark."
"Welcome to Thirstfall."
Richard makes a sound through his nose that almost becomes a laugh, but he holds it in. I pull a small scrap of paper from my inventory, write down my contact identifier, and leave it on one of the tables near the door.
"My mail ID," I say. "In case you're still interested in my offer."
He looks at the paper, then at Zoe.
He doesn't answer.
