The prisoners from the southern dock raid were escorted to the dungeons beneath the palace, their faces grim and defiant. The leader of the group, a scarred man with cold eyes, remained silent as the guards shackled him to a heavy iron chair in the interrogation chamber.
Damien stood in the corner of the dimly lit room, his steel-gray eyes locked onto the man. Amara and Carys flanked him, their expressions sharp and unyielding. The air was thick with tension, the flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows on the walls.
"Let's make this simple," Damien said, stepping forward. His voice was calm, but it carried an edge of steel. "Who are you working for?"
The man smirked, leaning back against the chair despite the restraints. "You think I'm just going to tell you?"
