Marcus knew who he was.
"Nicholas Vahn," he called out the name of the man sitting on the throne of the broken hall.
Nicholas kept staring at Marcus. He didn't utter a single word.
But in his eyes was rage that had been killing him even after his death.
"You remember the name," Nicholas spoke, and rested his head on the fist of his hand, supporting it on the armrest.
"Of course, you do…" he continued. "You always remember what's useful to you, that's how traders are…"
Marcus's gaze remained on Nicholas. He did not have the slightest hesitation, fear, or regret in his eyes.
"Tell me," Nicholas spoke. "Do you know how I died?"
"Or was that part unnecessary?" he asked.
Marcus exhaled quietly and closed his eyes.
Nicholas's lips curved into a smile.
"There it is," he murmured.
"Always precise, composed, distant…"
Nicholas let the words settle for a moment. He was testing whether they held any meaning.
