"Could've fooled me," Piotr says, voice hard and dry. The man has a face like a stone wall, but his eyes burn. He plants a hand on the table scattered with maps and the occasional, very worn flimsy. "Nobody here has anything more than you to gamble with, Illyan. I have only gotten this far because I place my bets carefully. I choose my battles."

He leans forward, jaw set. "Choose smarter. This one isn't yours."