"I came to see what failure looks like."
Reynald's glare could have carved glass.
His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides, knuckles paling, but he didn't strike. He didn't rise to the bait. Not now. Not in here.
He'd learned better.
"I know I failed," he said, voice like a drawn blade—quiet, sharp, restrained. "You don't need to remind me."
Ronnie raised a brow, arms folded loosely as he leaned against the rune-sealed wall. "Then what, Seran? Should I offer comfort? A handshake? Maybe write a letter of recommendation for your early retirement?"
But Reynald didn't flinch.
He stepped forward.
"Lucavion," he said, his voice cutting through the chamber like the edge of his own ruined sword. "He's not just some rogue awakened. He knew."
Ronnie's expression didn't change.
"He knew, Ronnie," Seran repeated, firmer now. "He knew I was under direct orders. He knew I wasn't a real commoner. He knew about the Crown Prince."
At that, Ronnie blinked once.
Slow.
Measured.
