Jefferson's aura erupted like a dam breaking, flooding the chamber in a crushing tide. The stone beneath Rex's boots cracked, and his chest felt like it would implode. But it wasn't Rex who bore the brunt—no, Jefferson's focus was entirely on the trembling man before him.
Oliver Jace collapsed to one knee, his lungs rattling as though invisible hands were wringing them dry. His veins bulged, his eyes bloodshot, his breath shallow.
"Talk," Jefferson's voice carried no emotion, yet it rumbled with a menace that could topple mountains.
Jace coughed violently, trying to resist, but Jefferson's killing intent tightened around him like chains. Finally, his spirit shattered.
"My name… Oliver Jace…" he wheezed, the words forced out through grit teeth. "…I am from the Valenbrook family."
The moment the name left his lips, Jefferson's aura stilled—calm, yet sharp as an unsheathed blade. His eyes narrowed, and his tone sank into frost.
"Go on."
