"Fight?" Vaelric let out a hollow, jagged laugh that sounded more like a dying radiator’s wheeze. "You want to trade blows with a man whose primary job description was to ensure the liquidation of assets? Dhal doesn’t 'fight,' Mavren. He processes. He’ll look at your cardiovascular output, match it against your muscle mass, and then apply the exact amount of force required to ensure you never stand up again."Mavren wiped a smear of black sludge from his forehead, his eyes darting toward the maintenance hatch they had just crawled through. "Then what’s the alternative? We just wait for him to catch up and hand over our inventory? I have a life, Vaelric. A life that isn't going to end because some glorified accountant wants to balance his ledger.""You have a death wish," Vaelric countered, his voice dropping to a low, serrated whisper. "Listen. Do you hear that? The rhythm changed."They both froze. The thud-clank that had been echoing up the shaft for the last ten minutes had stopped