Richard stared at Oliver for a few seconds.
The glass still trembled faintly on the counter after the slam. Enough to leave the sound hanging in the air, uncomfortable.
Oliver stayed where he was on the other side of the wood, too big for the space, shoulders high, one hand closed near the empty glass. His question had been simple.
"If you can drink, you can talk. When do you start at the factory?"
Richard looked at him as if weighing whether it was worth spending more OXI on a crooked answer. The Ocean's Law mark still worked on him, draining life in silence. Even healed by Zhang Xi, his body carried a full day's exhaustion, ground down by a rule that didn't care about reasons.
"I start," Richard said, slowly, "when my daughter is out of here and when I can walk without looking like I got kicked by a drunk horse."
Oliver didn't smile.
He didn't back off either.
