Netser drew in a long breath, then released it as a low, mournful sigh. His shoulders seemed heavier, his composure fraying at the edges.
"I am all alone now, Shaya," he said at last, his voice roughened, weighed down. "The Finance Minister accused us of rebellion. Lies, forged evidence, layer upon layer until even truth was drowned. The king approved it." His eyes darkened, a flicker of pain breaking through. "My family… was exterminated."
Shaya's breath caught, her eyes widening. "What?" The single word left her lips like a gasp, torn between disbelief and horror.
The garden around them seemed to fall silent, the morning light suddenly too bright, too merciless, as if the world itself held its breath at his confession.
Netser lowered his gaze to the stone table between them. His hands, clenched loosely, rested there as though steadying himself against a weight too heavy to bear. When he spoke again, his voice carried the cadence of memory—slow, heavy, carved with grief.
