Roman said nothing, but his gaze stayed fixed on his father's face, steady, unblinking.
Every shift of Magnus's shoulders, every tightening of his jaw, every flicker in his eyes, it all spoke louder than words.
Guilty. The thought arrived, then immediately felt wrong. Magnus wouldn't be that careless, would he?
The realization settled deeper with each passing second.
Across the table, Magnus barely seemed aware of anything beyond his own unraveling control. His fingers tapped once against the table, then stilled, as if he'd caught himself.
"You don't seem to understand the gravity of the situation," one of the panel members said, his voice measured but firm. "If you did, you would have already brought your son before this panel to answer for his actions."
Another leaned forward, his chair scraping softly against the floor. "And you'd better start mentioning names," he added, tone sharpening. "That is the only thing that guarantees your son will ever step on the ice again."
