The room held its breath. Every gaze was fixed on him.
"Sit down and let's begin. You've already wasted enough time getting here." Magnus's voice was cold, measured, official, stripped of anything resembling fatherly warmth.
Roman's jaw tightened. His rebuttal rose to his lips, sharp and ready, but he swallowed it down. Slowly, he lowered himself into the chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath his weight.
His pulse thudded loudly in his ears, but he kept his eyes on Magnus, watching him as the realization settled fully into place.
But how? When did he gain this much control over the board?
"Now," Magnus said, folding his hands neatly on the table, "tell us exactly what happened." His tone was different here, detached. But his eyes? His eyes hadn't changed at all.
Roman held his gaze, something tight coiling in his chest. How do I defend myself when the man judging me is the one who set this up? He's not here to listen, he's here to finish this.
