In the dim interrogation room, Thales leaned against the wall unconsciously, his face completely submerged in darkness.
The Black Prophet stroked the armrest of his wheelchair, watching the writhing Blackvein Vines on his lap, not glancing at the prince even once.
At this moment, it seemed they had reached some sort of understanding.
Only Rayex's voice continued to come through from the other side of the glass:
"Our people have basically verified that this was just an accident, but we have to ensure that this news won't be spread or used by those with ulterior motives to guide public opinion,"
"Hopefully, this is the only murder that has arisen because of it."
Murder.
Thales slowly raised his head.
Because of it.
Because of his... dietary preferences.
Thales's expression remained blank, his gaze fixed.
Of course, he could argue:
This had nothing to do with him.
