Karl sat in his private office on the seventh floor, the heavy silence broken only by the faint noise of the industrial activity outside. Leo stood opposite him, posture erect, ready to summarize the initial intelligence haul gathered by the agents embedded within the Rogina Merchant Company caravans.
"Start with the big picture, Leo," Karl commanded, glancing up from a sheet detailing commodity prices. "Are the racial tensions our customers exhibit on the outside as volatile as the rumors claim, or is it merely posturing?"
Leo tapped the top paper, his voice perfectly modulated and precise. "Surface observation is misleading, My Lord. Our agents report that in key trade hubs like Stonehorn Crossing and Hearthglen, common folk coexist normally. They must—trade demands it. But beneath that cooperation, the regional fault lines are cracking faster than expected."
"Give me specifics on the fissures. Where is the most concentrated hatred?"
