The chamber was smaller than Sereena expected.
No grand courtroom. No watching eyes. Just a long oval table, six council members seated in silence, and Lucas standing off to the side with his arms folded. The morning light filtered through narrow windows, casting pale beams across the polished floor.
Sereena sat alone at the center of the room, hands resting calmly in her lap. Her heart beat hard, but not wildly. She had done nothing wrong—and she would not act like someone who had.
The eldest councilor, Lady Verena, spoke first. "State again how you came upon the injured trainee."
Sereena nodded, steady. "I was heading back to my room. I saw blood in the hall and followed the trail. Kassian was already hurt when I found him. He was bleeding badly, so I got him stable as best I could and brought him to help."
A man two seats down leaned back in his chair. Lord Hallor, sharp-eyed and suspicious by nature. "And we're supposed to believe you were simply strolling the halls at that hour?"
"I couldn't sleep," she answered, voice quiet but sure. "I felt…uneasy. Like something was off. I didn't think I was walking into danger—I just didn't want to ignore my gut."
Another council member, Mistress Elira, tapped her fingers on the table. "You were the only one who saw the scene. The only one who claims there was someone else there."
Sereena didn't flinch. "Kassian said he was attacked. His wounds weren't self-inflicted."
"And yet," Hallor pressed, "you were conveniently the one to find him. And no other witness saw this alleged intruder."
"I didn't see the attacker," Sereena said. "But the blood trail didn't start where Kassian was lying. Someone dragged or chased him from another corridor."
The room went quiet.
Lady Verena exchanged a look with the others. "You understand, girl, this comes at a delicate time. Tensions are high with the competition nearing. Sabotage…is not unthinkable."
"I know," Sereena said softly. "But I wouldn't hurt anyone—especially not a fellow trainee. Kassian needs to get better. That's what matters first."
There was something disarming about the way she said it—no panic, no defensiveness, just truth.
Hallor leaned forward. "Tell me, Sereena. Why should we trust your word over the evidence we lack?"
Before she could speak, another voice cut in.
"She didn't run."
All eyes shifted to Lucas.
He remained leaning against the wall, expression unreadable, but his tone held weight.
"If she were responsible—or even involved—she wouldn't have stayed with him. She wouldn't have handed him over to the medics while covered in blood."
Lady Verena eyed him. "You speak as though you've decided her innocence."
"I speak," Lucas replied evenly, "based on what I saw. She was helping, not hiding."
Sereena glanced at him, surprised—not by aggression this time, but by something else. Something quieter.
Hallor frowned but said nothing.
Mistress Elira cleared her throat. "Kassian is conscious. He will be questioned when he's stable enough. Until then, we cannot accuse without basis."
Verena folded her hands. "For now, Sereena, you will not be confined. But you will remain under observation. Your movements will be limited to training grounds and your quarters."
That was more mercy than she expected.
Sereena inclined her head. "Thank you. I understand."
Hallor muttered, "We'll see if the gratitude holds when the truth comes out."
She didn't rise to the bait.
Verena dismissed the session with a firm nod. "You may go."
Sereena stood slowly and moved toward the exit. As she passed, Lucas straightened and fell into step beside her, silent until the doors closed behind them.
She glanced at him briefly. "I guess I'm the prime suspect, then."
His expression didn't change. "You were at the scene first. They'd be fools not to look at you."
There was no cruelty in the words—just honesty.
She nodded. "I understand."
He studied her a moment longer than necessary. Like he was trying to solve a riddle he didn't remember picking up.
Then he said quietly, almost to himself—
"…but I don't think you did it."
Sereena blinked, startled.
Lucas didn't wait for a response. He simply walked ahead, leaving her in the corridor with a heart that, for the first time since the night of the attack, felt a little less heavy.
Because being doubted hurt.
But being believed—without reason—that was something else entirely.