By the time the morning had properly stretched into late morning, Lanza had worked through considerably more of the strong alcohol than the early hour reasonably justified, his composure loosening with each successive cup."My son," he said, gesturing broadly toward Lock Fan with a cup that sloshed dangerously close to spilling, "refuses to stay home. Won't inherit the business I built with my own two hands, decades of work, and instead runs off chasing whatever glory he thinks academy life and imperial connections offer him.""I'm sitting right here," Lock Fan said, without looking up from his own plate."I know exactly where you're sitting," Lanza replied. "That's precisely why I'm complaining loud enough for you to hear it."Marco watched the exchange with the particular amusement of someone witnessing a well-worn family argument that had clearly repeated itself countless times before."Why does it bother you so much?" Marco asked. "That he wants his own path."Lanza's expression s