First, Darius Thorne. Still in ceremonial robes, one sleeve torn where he had fought arrest. Thrown to the floor.
Then Elder Caelum. Pale. Speechless.
Then Lady Seris. Hair disordered, dignity stripped, dragged hard enough across stone to leave red at her wrists.
Then Rovan.
Then Varek.
Each arrival sent a fresh wave through the chamber. Gasps. Denials. Shouts. One tried to speak. A guard forced him down. Another screamed innocence. Marcus did not even look at him. He only said, "Next."
And more came.
Because every name spoken had found flesh. Found a door. Found a body dragged into judgment.
Soon the chamber that had begun the day as council, looked like a tribunal.
The accused lined in rows. Some kneeling. Some restrained. Some too stunned to resist. Some weeping. Some already silent with the knowledge that silence would save nothing.
And at the center of it....
Thessian.
Still seated. Leg crossed. One hand against the armrest. Watching. Listening. Almost lazily.
