They ran.
Alvian walked into the VIP room and locked the door. Seraphina was holding the Prince down on a velvet sofa.
"Now," Alvian said, equipping his dagger. "Let's talk about the weather."
---
The VIP room was lavish, decorated with velvet drapes and expensive liquors that likely cost more than the lives of the gladiators fighting below. Now, it was an interrogation chamber.
The Golden Prince struggled under Seraphina's knee, his golden mask askew.
"You're making a mistake!" the Prince spat. "The Syndicate is eternal! Killing me changes nothing!"
"I'm not here to kill you," Alvian said, sitting in a leather armchair opposite the captive. He cleaned his fingernails with the tip of [Voidpiercer]. "I'm here for access codes."
"I won't talk," the Prince sneered. "My mind is shielded by a Grade-A psychic block. You can't verify anything I say."
Alvian looked at Seraphina. "Is that true?"
