A sharp knock echoed through the room.
Greg straightened. "Come in."
The door opened, and the head butler stepped inside, bowing lightly.
"Pardon the interruption," he said before turning his attention to Soren. "Madam Beckett has requested your presence."
Soren's brows rose, and he glanced toward Greg, waiting for dismissal.
Greg sighed through his nose, his expression returning to its usual stiff neutrality. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Soren. You may go."
Soren offered nothing in response—no nod, no acknowledgment. He simply stood, shoulders stiff, and followed the head butler out of the interrogation room.
They went to the inner court, where the nobles were currently hosted.
Now that Starla was there, she sat beside the old woman—an arrangement that quietly emphasized the rank divide and left Mervyn pushed further to the side.
