After about an hour, the door opened again.
Heavy footsteps entered first.
Not ordinary soldiers.
Lucas recognized it immediately from the way they carried themselves.
Interrogators.
Behind them walked a broad man dressed differently from the others, his armor darker, lighter around the joints for movement rather than battlefield combat, with several cruel-looking instruments hanging from his waist beside a short blade. His face carried no rage or excitement.
Only routine.
The kind of man who treated suffering as work.
He stopped a few feet from Lucas and studied him silently for a moment.
"So," the man said calmly, "this is the famous intruder."
Lucas said nothing.
The interrogator crouched slightly, observing the suppressing ring around Lucas's neck before nodding with faint approval.
"You caused quite a mess," he continued. "Castle breach. Prison escape. Compound riot. Dead soldiers everywhere."
Still nothing.
