Mira's hands trembled at her sides, clutching the folds of her white dress as though the silk could shield her from Odin's wrath. Her lips parted to speak, to deny, to defend—but no words came. The truth, once hidden beneath veils of sweet pretenses, now hung naked in the air, and she was totally exposed.
Marlon Norse stood from his seat, his movements slow and deliberate. "You speak of shadows and conspiracies, cousin," he said, his voice calm, yet lined with the practiced poise of a seasoned manipulator. "But shadows cannot stand as proof. What you're accusing me of—"
"—is something only the guilty would try to bury with words," Odin cut in sharply, his voice rising like a storm on the verge of breaking. "Where was Mira when my daughter was taken? Why did no ransom ever come? And why, Marlon, did your own lands expand in influence the same year Lara vanished?"
