Fish found himself wandering the scorching streets of Scorvia, the air heavy with the mingling scents of spiced meats, roasted nuts, and tangy citrus. Crowds bustled around him, voices rising and falling in an energetic hum as traders shouted out their wares. Somewhere in the chaos, Flint had disappeared—probably off unloading those suspicious crates of trident meat to whatever back-alley deal he’d lined up.
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