Magnus leaned back into his chair, the leather giving a faint creak beneath his weight. His fingers tightened slightly around the phone, the screen still glowing in his palm.

"It’s not that simple," he said, lifting his eyes to Roman.

Roman straightened, tension tightening his shoulders. "What do you mean?" he asked. "The evidence is right there."

Magnus gave a slow nod, as if acknowledging the point, but his grip on the device didn’t loosen. "We’ll have to present this to the panel," he said. "Let them review it and decide."

Roman’s brows drew together, confusion flickering into frustration. He opened his mouth, but Magnus continued, his voice measured, deliberate.

"The Saunders haven’t admitted to anything," he said. "And until they do, this," he lifted the phone slightly, "doesn’t hold as much weight as you think."

The words hung in the air.

Roman froze. For a moment, his thoughts scattered, colliding. How does this not matter? After everything?

The faint hum of the room seemed louder now, pressing in around him, and then something shifted. Clarity. Magnus was trying to play him. Again.

He leaned forward abruptly and took the phone back. Magnus held on for a brief second, their hands tightening around it in silent resistance, before he let go. His jaw set, muscles ticking faintly.

"You’re right," Roman said, his tone cooling as he locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket. A quiet breath left him. "But there won’t be any escape for them."

Magnus leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. "If what you’re saying is true," he said slowly, "then this isn’t just about you anymore." A pause. "It’s about the integrity of the entire system."

His eyes sharpened. "Which means I decide how it’s handled."

His voice sharpened, indignation rising too quickly, too cleanly. "How could they lie like that? It’s despicable."

Roman didn’t respond immediately, he just watched him. His eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze steady, studying, measuring.

Your walls are cracking, Father, he thought. And this time, I can see through them. He drew in a breath, about to speak, to play along, to pretend, but a sharp vibration cut through the moment.

Magnus’s phone buzzed against the table, and both their gazes dropped to it.

For the briefest second, something flickered across Magnus’s face, a shift too quick to name, but impossible to miss.

Roman caught it. His own eyes lingered on the screen a second too long. Then he looked up.

"Do you need me to leave?" he asked evenly. "So you can take that?"

Magnus waved a hand dismissively, too quickly in fact. "The only call I’ll be making," he said, his tone firm, almost clipped, "is to the panel. Once we have everything we need."

Beneath the control, something else shifted, hammering, tight, restless beneath his skin.

"I’ll handle the Saunders. I’ll get the confession," Roman said quietly. His gaze didn’t waver. "They won’t be able to avoid this for long."

He held Magnus’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them. "And I won’t stop there," he added quietly. "I’ll find out who’s helping them too."

The room seemed to settle into silence again, but it was no longer calm. It was waiting.

Something in Roman’s tone made Magnus’s jaw tighten.

"There will be no need for that," Magnus said, his voice firm, controlled. He folded his hands on the desk, though the tension lingered in his fingers. "You’ve done enough already. Just keep the evidence safe, and I’ll handle the rest."

Roman held his gaze for a moment, searching, weighing. Then he nodded. "Thank you, Father," he said, his voice smooth, though not a trace of belief sat behind it. "I hope I can count on you this time."

Magnus smiled, the expression polished and effortless. "Get some rest," he said. "And trust your father for once."

Roman gave a small nod. "I will." A brief pause. "You should get some rest too."

With that, he turned and walked out. The door clicked softly behind him, the sound swallowed by the quiet of the private waiting room.

But the moment he stepped beyond it, his pace changed. Not subtle, quicker, more purposeful.

Inside the study, Magnus’s gaze shifted to the monitor mounted on the wall. The grainy live feed flickered to life, capturing Roman as he moved down the corridor. Magnus leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watched.

Outside, Roman descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing faintly against polished marble. The air carried a faint scent of polish and something warm from the kitchen.

The butler stepped out just as Roman reached the bottom.

Roman’s eyes flicked upward, just for a second, to the small red blinking light tucked into the corner of the ceiling, knowing his father could be watching.

And, of course, he was.

A smile slipped easily onto his face. "How are you?" he asked lightly.

"Well, sir," the butler replied with a polite nod. "How may I help you?"

Roman’s expression didn’t change. "Where’s Vance?"

"He left a while ago, sir."

Roman’s gaze drifted briefly toward the front door, his thoughts already moving ahead. Of course he did. At this hour, there was only one reason Vance would be out. Cleaning up. Tying loose ends.

Roman gave the butler a light tap on the shoulder, casual, easy. But his eyes lifted briefly, straight to the camera. Just long enough to acknowledge it. Then he smiled.

He turned toward the door, ready to leave, but stopped as a faint creak echoed from upstairs. Magnus.

Roman’s shoulders dropped just slightly, the shift barely noticeable. He couldn’t risk it. Not now. He needed Magnus to continue believing he had the upper hand.

He turned smoothly, redirecting his steps toward the staircase instead. "Good night, Tony," he said over his shoulder, tone easy, unbothered. "You should retire to bed soon."

The butler nodded.

Roman didn’t wait to see it. He climbed the stairs at a measured pace, every movement controlled, unhurried. At the landing, he turned toward his room as expected.

From the corner of his eye, he caught it. A figure stood there, still. Not hiding. Watching.

He didn’t react. Didn’t slow. Didn’t look again. He just kept walking, steady and composed, letting the illusion hold.

Letting Magnus believe the performance was intact. Because when he finally made his move, it wouldn’t be something his father saw coming.