Blair rolled with it. The stumble lasted a quarter of a second before she planted her foot, leaned down into Marek's hooded face, and grabbed the wet burlap with both hands.
"WHO WERE YOU MEETING WITH?"
Zero buildup. Zero context. Zero of the careful psychological framework Damon had been constructing. Blair Drakencrest had walked into a professional interrogation and turned it into a street fight in under four seconds.
"I don't know what you're—"
"WRONG ANSWER." She shook the bag. Water sprayed off the burlap in every direction. "You were in the eastern corridor at three in the morning talking about half-bloods and matebonds and severing bonds and kill switches. I HEARD you. Now give me a name or I will make this bucket look like a warm bath."
Damon leaned back in his chair, deciding whether to intervene or observe. His instincts said intervene. His intelligence said this might actually work faster.
He observed.
