The walk back home was tiresome.
Michael unleashed a barrage of questions, reacting with a mix of stiff nods and stumped frowns at my responses.
He asked me my plans for stopping the royal assassination, expressed doubts on why we shouldn't inform proper authorities in time, and queried a few more things about the future that I had supposedly seen in my 'revelations.'
If he doubted anything I was feeding him, he did not let it show on his face.
Actually, he did not let much show on his face at all.
Which was, in a way, understandable.
He hadn't come face-to-face with any Syndicate member yet, nor had he suffered the consequences of their schemes directly.
He may know about their unseen hands twisting the lives of countless ignorant citizens, but to him, they were still just an abstract concept that I painted out.
A bogeyman from a dark story rather than a blade currently pressed against his throat.
So he was struggling to grasp the sheer weight of what I was telling him.
