"Evidence can be interpreted many ways," Vetra said, and her voice had changed.
Harder now, sharper, the maternal mask slipping like ice melting to reveal stone beneath. "But witnesses cannot be so easily dismissed."
She gestured toward the chamber doors with theatrical precision.
"Bring them in."
The doors opened, and three people entered the Grand Council Chamber. They wore common clothes, threadbare and soot-stained, the kind of garments that spoke of lives lived close to survival's edge.
These were not nobles playing at poverty for sympathy. These were survivors of yesterday's horror, bearing its marks on their bodies like accusations written in scar tissue.
The first witness was a woman, middle-aged, her hands wrapped in bandages that couldn't quite hide the angry red of fresh burns beneath.
