Chapter 15
- Xander Jade
- Dec 3
- 7 min read
The table was a joke—too low for anyone but a child to use, its surface warped from generations of spilt blood and whatever counted as coffee here. The cups weren’t even cups, just two irregular hunks of hollowed bone. Eli took one, rolled it in his palm, and tried not to look at the string of ceremonial burn marks carved into the rim. There were more important things to worry about. Like the woman currently hurling a steel-tipped spear at a cluster of targets hanging from the far wall with one of her uninjured arms.
