While Estelle clung to the fragile thread of hope, across town, Roman sat under a very different kind of pressure.
The room felt close, too warm, too tight, as if the walls themselves were leaning in to listen. The faint hum of the air conditioner did little to cut through the tension.
Roman sat stiffly in his chair, his leg bouncing against the floor in a restless rhythm. His fingers curled against his thigh, then loosened, then curled again as he fought to keep himself steady.
"So far," Magnus said, his voice measured and cold, "since this interrogation began, you have not said anything convincing enough for us to allow you to ever set foot on the ice again." The words landed cleanly, without hesitation.
Roman drew in a breath, parting his lips to respond, but Magnus continued, not giving him the space.
"As far as we are concerned, you are a danger on the ice. Your recklessness is hardly news to anyone seated at this table."
