"Sophia," Raynoel stammered as he staggered backwards.
"You are also alive?" His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face.
"Of course I am, now say the truth, you treacherous bastard," she cursed as she pinned him to the wall with surprising strength. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his uniform, and her eyes—wild with fury—searched his for even the faintest hint of remorse.
It seemed like the Druids had fixed most of her major injuries, only leaving a few scratches. But her rage? That was untouched—burning hotter than ever.
Raynoel showed little resistance. With the truth stacked up against him like this, there was nothing he could do. He was cornered.
He buried his head.
Flavius did the same, though his was not guilt—it was disappointment. A deep, aching kind of sorrow that weighed down his shoulders.
"So it seems like everything they said was the truth," he sighed, the words almost too bitter to speak.
