The corridor leading back to his quarters was deadly quiet, save for the scrape of his boots and the faint blow of the shadow attendants.
Their grip on his arms was not merely firm but unnaturally cold. Zakar didn't resist. His body swayed, head lowered, feigning weakness, though behind his still eyes his mind burned.
His system had remained silent for sometime yet its presence thrummed like a shield inside his skull, reminding him that the interrogation had not broken him.
He had given them a story that worked, half-truths coated in poison. But how long before General Tiken saw through the act?
The attendants halted at the edge of his team quarters. One reached for the door rune, pressing a skeletal finger against its glowing seal. The wards crackled, then dissolved into strands of pale light. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar gloom of rift 567.
