Kael stayed perfectly still, pressed inside the narrow vent, heat brushing against his skin. The air was dry and heavy, laced with a faint metallic scent from the heated pipes around him.
Below, in the large room, voices echoed softly through the slits of the vent grille.
Men and women sat around a long steel table. They wore dark military cloaks with silver pins. One woman, clearly high-ranking, had an officer's cap with a crimson band and twin gold stars. Her face was sharp, her voice colder than ice.
"The crates will be shipped out by dawn," she said, tapping a long pointer on the table map. "Nevan's docks are clear. We'll deliver on time."
Another man leaned forward, arms crossed. "You're sure about this? That city's not exactly stable. Half of it's still loyal to the old guard."
"It doesn't matter," a third one cut in. "Once those weapons hit the streets, loyalty will shift. Money makes people move."
"And fear makes them kneel," the woman added dryly.
