Sylene didn't flinch. His eyes sharpened, trained on Zirron like thorns.
"What are you talking about?"
Amusement flickered in the man's ice-blue gaze. "Kid, don't play dumb. Can't you see we have the evidence?"
"Also, isn't it a bit too convenient?" Zirron added, sliding the photo slightly forward. "You're out alone that night, without Mavis... and then someone turns up beaten half to death?"
A slow dread crawled up Sylene's spine. Getting involved with nobles and security was a mistake. They were too nosy, relentless, powerful. He should've just used Sir Draven's money—it's quiet, untraceable—but no, he had to be reckless...
"And then, suddenly, you're dining in a fancy place while still job-hunting?" Zirron leaned back, like he was merely curious, but every word was a test.
Sylene steadied his breath. "Am I that poor to you? I had some money before coming to Forchel. Of course, it's nothing...compared to yours."
Zirron smiled, cool and unreadable. "Just probing."
