Magnus forgot to breathe.

For a second, all he could do was stare at Roman. The room pressed in on him, the air thick, almost suffocating, as if the walls had quietly inched closer while he wasn’t looking.

He forced a breath in slowly and let it out just as carefully before stepping inside.

Every eye in the room followed him. The weight of their attention settled across his shoulders as he moved forward, the faint echo of his footsteps too loud against the polished floor.

His gaze flicked from one face to another, panel members seated in a rigid line, unreadable, watchful. Assessing. Judging.

For the first time, Magnus couldn’t immediately tell where he stood.

As he walked, a single thought circled quietly in his mind. Was he being called to lead, or to answer?

Across the table, Roman watched him with unsettling ease. A faint smile tugged at his lips, controlled but unmistakable.

He had never seen his father falter, not even slightly. But now, beneath the carefully composed exterior, there was something else. A tremor. Barely there, but real.

And Roman saw it. It amused him more than it should.

Magnus slowed as he neared the center of the room, his eyes settling briefly on the empty chairman’s seat. His steps lost a fraction of their usual certainty, becoming more measured.

He didn’t know if he would be allowed to sit there. Didn’t know if someone would stop him. Didn’t know what role he was walking into.

Still, he moved forward and sat.

The chair felt colder than usual beneath him. He half-expected a voice to cut through the room, to tell him to stand, to move, to take his place somewhere else.

But nothing came.

The silence stretched.

Magnus held it together, refusing to let the breath building in his chest escape as relief.

"What is happening?" he asked finally, his voice steady, though it felt like it had to travel through something thick to be heard. "Why was I the last one to hear of an emergency meeting?"

A man across the table leaned back slightly, studying him. "Well, you were not the last person," he replied calmly. "I’m not sure why you would think so. You simply arrived after everyone else."

A faint murmur slipped from Magnus, something between acknowledgment and irritation. His gaze drifted briefly to Roman, then to Mr. Saunders.

Magnus swallowed, the motion subtle, before pulling his attention back to the panel."What is so urgent," he continued, firmer now, reclaiming ground inch by inch, "that I had to be called away like this?"

No one answered, and the silence this time was heavier, stretching long enough to tighten the space again.

Then—

"We have a confession." The words landed cleanly.

Magnus’s head turned before he could stop himself, his gaze snapping straight to Mr. Saunders. But the man didn’t look up. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, shoulders slightly drawn inward, as though the weight in the room had settled on him too.

"From Leo Saunders," the panel member added.

Magnus’s gaze lingered a second longer before he forced it away, his expression smoothing back into something controlled, something unreadable.

"And what confession is this?" he asked.

He almost had it back, control. But Roman didn’t let him keep it.

"Leo confessed from his hideout," Roman said, his voice calm as it cut across the room, pulling Magnus’s attention back to him.

Magnus felt it then, a sharp, uneven beat in his chest. His expression didn’t change, but something colder crept in beneath it.

Fear, thin and unwelcome, brushed the edges of his control as he held Roman’s gaze.

What are you playing at?

"My family can’t keep living on the run," Mr. Saunders said, his voice rough around the edges. He dragged a hand over his face before looking up at Magnus. "This is the best option I could think of. I’m sorry."

The apology lingered in the air, thin and uneasy.

Magnus felt it immediately, the shift.

The room seemed to tilt toward him, every gaze settling, weighing, waiting. He adjusted slightly in his seat, smoothing his expression even as his thoughts surged.

Has he said anything? Has he implicated me? His jaw tightened. Why did Vance leave him behind?

"We were waiting for you," one of the panel members said, folding his hands on the table. "Before we played the video of Leo’s confession. Hopefully, there’s something useful in it."

For a brief second, relief loosened something tight in Magnus’s chest. They hadn’t played it yet. That meant there was still time.

But the relief didn’t last. It curdled quickly into urgency. He couldn’t let that video play, not without knowing what was in it.

Control was slipping. Fast. And he didn’t yet understand how.

His gaze flicked toward the technician already moving toward the video system, his fingers hovering near the controls.

Magnus leaned forward slightly, his voice measured. "Is it necessary?"

The question dropped into the room and stilled it.

Every head turned. Every eye landed on him. Roman’s included.

His son’s gaze sharpened, narrowing just enough to betray the thought behind it. No, Father, we’re watching this.

Magnus held his composure, though it felt thinner now, stretched at the edges. "If the Saunders have already admitted to lying," he continued, clasping his hands together on the table, "then I don’t see why we need to watch the video. The facts are clear."

He paused, letting his words settle before pressing on.

"My son has been exonerated. The punishment placed on him should be lifted immediately and transferred to Leo. Frankly," his lips tightened slightly, "a ban would not be unreasonable."

Mr. Saunders’s head snapped toward him, his jaw locking so tightly the muscle ticked. But he said nothing. Just sat there, silent, as though holding something back with effort.

Around the table, murmurs rose, low, uneven. Some nodded. Others frowned. A few exchanged glances.

That uncertainty crawled under Magnus’s skin, slow and invasive, gnawing at what little control he still held.

Then one of the panel members straightened. "No, Mr. Whitehall."

The room quieted again.

"We all want to see the confession," the man continued, his tone firm. "It’s necessary for the integrity of this investigation."

A few others nodded, their agreement more decisive this time.

Magnus forced a smile. It came too quickly, stretching just a fraction too tight. "Of course," he said. The words tasted wrong.

A nod was exchanged, and the signal was given.

Across the table, Roman leaned back slightly, watching his father with open interest now. There was no attempt to hide it anymore, the satisfaction, the anticipation.

Seeing Magnus unsettled? That was new, and strangely satisfying.

Magnus’s foot began to tap beneath the table, a faint, restless rhythm against the polished floor. He slipped his phone into his hand, angling it just enough to shield the screen as his fingers moved quickly as he sent a message.

He paused, and then the reply came.

Everything is set, Sir. Just waiting for your go-ahead.

His fingers hovered over the screen, drumming once, twice. And before he could decide, the lights dimmed slightly, and the screen at the front flickered.

A faint static crackled through the speakers, and then Leo’s voice filled the room.