Adam tapped his finger on the table, his dark expression made heavier by the flickering braziers. "Listen, Grum'Thal. I'm sorry for what happened to you. I wouldn't want it to happen to me, nor to anyone, truly. But do you realise what you're asking from me? Grash'Thul—the netherworld! Overseer! That thing must be even older than magic itself, yet you want me to help you break your deal with him? You'd better find a madman with suicidal tendencies to offer him your knowledge. I'm sure just hearing your absurd request would fix his brain for good. No. Hell, no!"
He shook his head to chase the memory of this conversation. Determined to give up on the answers he had sought, he pushed on the soft leather covering the table, ready to leave as far as he could.
"You're not wrong." Grum'Thal waved gently toward Adam's seat. "And cautious. Qualities I respect. Qualities I share."
