The sterile, windowless waiting rooms near the arena's administrative offices felt like interrogation chambers despite the sergeant's insistence on "voluntary statements."
The air crackled with a different kind of tension now – the anticipation of confrontation.
Suspect One: Roric the Blademaster
Roric slammed into the small room, his face still etched with the bitterness of his quarter-final loss. He glowered at Eamond, Vale, Link (who stood ramrod straight, notebook poised), and Jake ("Watson," pencil trembling slightly).
A bored guard leaned against the doorframe.
"What's this about?" Roric growled, crossing his muscular arms. "I already told the officials everything. Came for my whetstone, left. Didn't touch anyone's gear."
Eamond spoke calmly. "Just clarifying timelines, Master Roric. You were in the storage area about an hour and a half before the final bout, correct? For roughly ten minutes?"
