Garen takes a long breath and closes his eyes. Centering himself before bad news lands. An old soldier's habit.
"You've given me a headache with this, kid."
He pulls a folded piece of paper out of his inventory and a small cloth pouch holding four Crests of Azurea. He weighs the pouch in his palm once, like a man reluctant to part with something that costs more than its weight.
"The intel I could get is here, and I haven't read it. Safer for me not to know." He tosses the pouch across the table. "And forgive me—I can't do more than I already am."
Of course he can't. If the Deepwarden catches Garen Azurea poking his finger where it isn't invited, everything goes underwater before any of our setup is even seated.
He just played a card he can't afford to play and he's already calculating the cost.
