Sage straightened himself. "I appreciate the concern," he said. "But the Guild doesn't stop just because I need some time."
His gaze shifted to the quiet figure seated at the table, the old man who had been watching him without taking his eyes off.
Turning fully toward him, Sage observed the man for a while before breaking into a smile. "You must be the winemaker."
The old man's lips curved slightly in response.
For a brief moment, the lounge quieted. Adventurers continued to move through the hall, boots striking the floor, and Boren was still arguing with someone at the front desk.
Yet around the small space where Sage stood facing the cane-bearing elder, there was a subtle sense of separation, as if an invisible curtain had been drawn.
Now, the old man studied Sage openly. His gaze wasn't casual curiosity or a merchant's shallow appraisal; it was the slow, practiced scrutiny of someone who had lived long enough to know how to focus his attention.
