Lucen didn't make it half a block.
Just silence and the quiet drag of his boots over slick city tile. Steam leaked from a vent shaft to his left, smelled like old coolant and rain heat. His coat still carried dust from the ring. Shoulder sore. Mana steady. Mind calm.
He was already thinking of food. Something fried. Maybe double portioned.
Then—
"I thought you said you weren't interested in recruiters."
Lucen froze.
Didn't turn.
Didn't need to.
That voice wasn't loud. Wasn't sharp.
Just steady.
Varik.
He stepped out from an alley gap like he'd been standing there since the last war ended. Coat folded. Hands bare. No weapon visible. The air didn't shift with him, it adjusted.
Lucen turned slowly.
"Not interested," he said. "Just polite."
Varik stepped closer. No expression. His boots didn't make sound. They just existed on the ground like they belonged more than the concrete did.
"You made him chase you down. That's different."
