Stealing the First Piece

A few steps away, a beggar hunched against a crumbling wall, his face partially hidden beneath the folds of a tattered hood. Unlike the usual broken figures that dotted the lower districts, this one had sharp eyes—calculating, scanning. He wasn't watching the passing guards out of fear. No, this was assessment.

Rodion caught on before Mikhailis had to say anything.

Mikhailis chuckled under his breath. Even the lowest of Luthadel had their roles to play.

His attention returned to his companions, who had finally stopped at a well-frequented stall. A plump merchant with a broad, beaming smile was carving thin slices of mist-cured venison, each cut releasing an aromatic smoky scent that made Mikhailis' stomach rumble in appreciation.