Chapter 542: About Violet

Violet stood her ground. "No, I don’t need to revise a word I uttered."

"Then you’ll indulge my creativity." Vincent slid a photo across the table, the grainy drone shot showing nothing but a pale crater and smoke curling from the wound in the earth. "Explain this without lying."

"You mean explain it without the weapon you didn’t find?" Roman countered.

"We didn’t find a weapon because it wasn’t one. This was obviously an energy event. One we don’t have a file for."

"Then start a new file," Violet said coolly.

"That’s what I’m doing," Vincent replied, "but none of you seem willing to cooperate."

"Cooperate on what? An energy event?" Violet told him. "What’s that got to do with me, a human? Do I look like Patrick, the scientist?"

"Good one, little mate." Griffin complimented her, only to turn and glower at Vincent. The man was beginning to get on their nerves.

Vincent shifted his attention immediately.

"His Highness, Micah, you rescued them. What did you see?"

Micah answered without emotion. "I didn’t see anything. I only felt the heat rising fast and did what I had to do, Commander."

That response irked Vincent and his voice rose. "Then tell me this, if you did what you had to do, why didn’t you rescue Henry?"

The air went taut.

Fire flashed in Micah’s eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You saved them," Vincent pressed, "Dragged them out before the blast. But not Henry Nightshade. Why? You had time for the others, didn’t you? Doesn’t that seem a little too convenient?"

Micah’s hand twitched, and in the blink of an eye, dark shadows lashed out from his palm. They slammed against the table and snapped toward Vincent like a whip.

Commander Vincent jolted from his chair with a curse, his pen clattering to the floor as he staggered back in defense mode. His wolf flared instinctively, hackles raised, and teeth clenched like he expected a fight.

"Relax," Micah said coolly, drawing the shadows back into his skin like it was nothing. "That’s just a harmless projection of my teleportation power. Nothing more. However, one move was all it took for you to defend only yourself and not even his majesty, King Elijah. Yet you expect me to save all seven people in the middle of an ambush and come out in one piece?"

One look at Elijah told Vincent he’d just fucked up.

Micah’s smile sharpened. "Fine. If you think you can do it, Commander, raise your hand." His eyes flicked deliberately to Vincent’s still fingers. "Oh, you can’t. Why? You already failed."

The silence that followed was merciless. Vincent’s jaw worked tight, but his hand never moved.

Violet snickered under her breath, failing to hold it in, while Roman looked like he was trying not to clap. Griffin nodded, impressed at how easily Micah had effortlessly put the Commander in his place.

Vincent’s face burned with humiliation, his jaw working, but still he couldn’t counter. Anything he said now would sound like a pathetic excuse.

Micah finally straightened, turning to Elijah with a half-bow. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. My temper was misplaced. I only meant to prove a point."

He stepped back, calm once again, though his eyes still gleamed with defiance. "But I’ll say this, I came here for a party, not an interrogation. So I’m done."

Elijah didn’t even hesitate. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed Micah as though he were nothing more than an annoyance.

Micah gave a shallow bow, his expression unreadable, and left without protest.

With Micah gone, it was back to them again. Before Vincent could recover, Griffin told him. "Commander, you came here for our statements. We’ve given them. We were attacked. We survived. Henry died fighting. Adele healed me. Micah extracted us. We came home. Is there a question in particular that you haven’t yet dressed in different clothes?"

From the way Vincent’s eyes slid to Griffin, it was obvious the man was still seething from Micah’s little display. His voice was gruffly when he spoke.

"So far, your testimonies line up well enough. The timelines match and the details overlap. But there are crucial gaps and evidence missing where it shouldn’t be. And I’m logging those."

"Missing evidence doesn’t mean guilt, Commander. It means you’re not as thorough as you claim," Griffin retorted.

Vincent gave him a long, measured look before scribbling something down. "And you claim the reason you left the scene was because a matebond snapped during the incident."

Roman lifted Violet’s hand, their fingers intertwined, and kissed the back of it with a grin. "The evidence is sitting right in front of you. I don’t know what else you need."

"Congratulations," Vincent said, the word more knife than toast.

"Send a card," Roman shot back.

Vincent’s gaze slid to Violet. "You confirm?"

Violet rolled her eyes. This man was unbelievable. "Yes."

Vincent adjusted in his seat, turning his pen toward Griffin. "Griffin Hale—"

"Don’t even push it," Griffin cut in, his tone edged with warning. "We’re a bonded trio."

With a tired sigh, Vincent shut the book and turned to Elijah. "That will be all for now."

"Thank the gods." Roman let out an exaggerated breath of relief.

"Now go, kids. Eat, drink, kiss, and be merry. It’s your party after all." Elijah lifted his glass toward them as though to toast.

Though his words sounded cheerful, goosebumps prickled along Violet’s arms. Griffin and Roman exchanged wary looks. What was the man up to now?

Still, they stood and left. Yet every step felt heavy under Elijah’s gaze, and it was a miracle they didn’t trip on the way out.

Once they were far enough, the atmosphere shifted as Elijah dropped the pretense.

"What’s your verdict, Commander?" he asked quietly.

Vincent didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on Violet Purple and the two heirs who had flanked her like guards. There was no smile on his face, no anger either. Just scrutiny.

Finally, he said, "I can’t tell if they’re lying outright. But one thing is certain—" he looked Elijah directly in the eyes, "—they’re hiding something. Especially the girl, Violet Purple. My instincts have never burned this hard over someone."

Elijah hummed low, noncommittal. "Mmhmm."

He raised his glass again, and beneath its rim, his eyes gleamed with a sharp and calculating emotion.