Elara stood frozen in the doorway, staring at him. He waited for the explosion, for the shouting, for any type of strong reaction that he would expect from Elara. However, it didn't come. There was no immediate reaction. For several long seconds, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the mana lamp on his desk.
Her arms, which had been crossed tight against her chest, slowly fell to her sides.
Then she spoke, her voice eerily quiet. "Repeat that."
Ronan kept his expression neutral. Softening the truth now would do more harm than good.
"During the Inter-Class War, I ordered an operative in Class S to kill Marcus Vrell. It was an intentional act designed to create instability when Class B needed an advantage."
The shock on Elara's face shattered like glass. Color flooded back into her cheeks, a burning red of rage. "Do you hear yourself? Do you even understand what you're saying?"
"I do."
