MEND ME IF YOU CAN.
Every second of hesitation here could cost more than just my pride.
The scarred man leaned forward, his elbows pressing into the table with a deliberate weight. Smoke from his stubbed cigar curled around his face like a dark halo, catching the flicker of dim lamplight in his eyes. They glinted sharp, predatory, and calculating—eyes that could see straight through a man, right into his core. “You look like someone who’s carried more than his share of bruises,” he said slowly, each word measured. “The question is… can you give them?”
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