The guards shoved the prisoner down into the chair before the desk. Ragnar did not move to sit; he remained standing, arms loosely folded, a silent overseer of every breath the man dared to take.
"Before you begin," Ragnar said, his voice as calm and still as a frozen lake, "tell me one more thing."
The prisoner stiffened, his fingers tightening against the edges of the chair.
"How does this Jorrit deliver his notes?" Ragnar's tone was deceptively soft, but it still carried a weight heavier and louder than if he had shouted.
The prisoner blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in questioning. "Deliver? He never gives me the notes. Not directly, at least."
Ragnar tilted his head just fractionally, a subtle movement that somehow managed to be both casual and predatory. "Explain."
