Boris raises his hand. One of his guards materializes from the shadow behind the forge and leans close.
Boris speaks low enough that I have to read his lips more than hear the words. "Bring Master Elisser's best weapons."
The guard freezes. His eyes fix on Boris for one full second—checking. Making sure he heard right.
"Go. Go." Boris waves him off.
The guard moves.
I analyze the reaction. That pause wasn't standard military protocol. Ordering Elisser's stock touched something above Boris's usual authority. Something political. Something with a price tag.
Good. That means there's room to negotiate.
"Wait," I call after the guard.
He stops. Boris turns to me.
"What now?"
"Boris." I lean forward. Rest my elbows on the table. Mirror his posture from earlier—deliberate, calculated. "I just handed you enough leviathanic crystal to keep this entire operation running for months. Maybe longer. Fresh supply. New source."
I pause. Let the silence tell more than words.
