I slid the bag across the table and the hooded figure peered inside. He seemed scared almost, or at least I thought he did, it’s hard to tell when their face is shrouded in shadow. We were sat at a tavern, the lively roars of drunk’s laughter filled the space, accompanied by the thick stench of ale. I personally preferred wine. The figure looked through the bag again, says if his eyes had deceived him the first time. I was almost proud of myself, I had never made this much of an impression on someone before, the most I got was a sideways glance or look of utter disgust.

The man finally spoke, “Where the hell did you get this?!” His voice was loud, but no one stopped to stare, which was lucky - I didn’t really want people knowing anything about what was in that bag.

I shrugged, trying to be casual, even when my voice came out more gravelly then normal after I had forgotten to breathe. “Found it.”

_Idiot_, I told myself, _you could have said something way better and you chose ‘found it’. If you’re going to lie, then at least do it with some finesse._

__

“Found it where exactly?” The hooded figure’s tone developed a weary edge to it, one I didn’t really want to sharpen.

I laughed. “And why should I tell you that?” I paused, then remembered to say, “I’ve already told you: information doesn’t come fore free.”

I could here a snarl coming from the opposite side of the table. Maybe I went a bit too far.