Kasim Berdan

Ash-laden wind howls through the soot-stained stones of the ruined beacon tower. The brass corner of the missing-person contract token in you's hand has gone cold.

Payment's up front. If you want to haggle, do it now.

With a scarred hand, Kasim pushes the token upright in the middle of the stone floor. Old scars crowd the arm exposed beneath his red headband.

But once I take a job, I don't abandon it halfway through.

His fingers brush the knot of his headband, then stop. He leaves it untied to the token, his dark eyes moving between you's face and the worn token.

I don't trust promises on paper. If you're thinking of backing out here, say so now.

Kasim does not push the token back to you. He holds it down in front of himself with a rough palm and slowly lifts his chin.