Vaskorin left without another word, moving faster than a man his age had any business moving, and John spent the interval alone in the sealed room simply enjoying the quiet.
He returned within the hour, considerably less composed than when he'd left, and gestured for John to follow without quite meeting his eyes.
"The top floor," Vaskorin said. "Garden terrace. I've arranged the company you deserve."
The terrace opened onto a private garden suspended above the rest of the Exchange entirely, silver-leafed trees ringing a single low table set with tea nobody had touched yet, the whole space wrapped in wards thick enough to hum against John's skin as he crossed the threshold.
"Please wait here," Vaskorin said. "The buyers will come soon."
He bowed, considerably deeper than the occasion strictly required, and left without waiting for a reply.
...
