The guard leads me to the west tower through a passage that curves around the upper stands.
The noise of the crowd drops as we climb. The wide walls and reinforced doors muffle the protests of everyone left without an LDP, though Leona's voice still reaches a few corridors, announcing the future official shops affiliated with the Silver Fang.
We reach the top floor. Rahul is seated in front of the window.
His hair has been set right. His clothes carry no trace of the arena, and the glass cane rests beside his chair. The anger that nearly broke loose a few hours ago no longer shows in his posture.
That doesn't mean it's gone.
The guard closes the door once I'm inside.
Rahul points to the chair across from him.
"Have a seat, Mr. Sands."
I obey.
Talking to him reminds me of a faint numbness on the side of my face where the slap landed. My ear still holds a low ringing too, but I don't mention either one. Rahul doesn't seem interested in asking.
