Luke leaned back in his chair, one arm crossed over his chest, the other rubbing at his temple. The words still echoed in his head, the weight of them too heavy to just shrug off. The Association of Schadenfreude. A terrorist organisation, killers in the shadows, extremists who wanted chaos under the guise of belief. And here Rashid, the so-called master of Barcken's underworld trade, admitted without hesitation that he had done business with them.
Luke wanted to blurt out that the man was insane. Who in their right mind struck deals with monsters? But Rashid's calm, unshaken eyes told him otherwise. There was no madness there—only calculation, only survival.
"Do you even hear yourself?" Luke finally said, his voice caught between disbelief and disgust. "You're talking about supplying weapons to lunatics who don't hesitate to kill civilians. And you just—what? Brush it off like selling fish at the market?"
