Morwenna didn't break eye contact. She stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, her gaze flat and unreadable.
It was the look of a seasoned predator, someone who had sat in a thousand war rooms and interrogated a thousand men, someone who knew the infinitesimal difference between a liar and a man who was telling a specifically curated version of the truth.
She was searching for a tell, a flicker of guilt, a shadow of deception, but she was finding that Rex existed in a category of person she had rarely encountered: a man who spoke the truth with the surgical precision of a man who had already accounted for every possible doubt.
"The explanation I have given you is the accurate one," Rex said.
He didn't say it with the booming bravado of a man defending himself, nor the frantic pitch of a man pleading for belief. He said it with a terrifying, even quality, the tone of a man stating a fundamental law of physics.
