After the incident, Dante wasn't handcuffed, interrogated, or even formally accused.
He was simply… locked up.
His room had become a cell.
A gilded cage, furnished like all the others : a bed, a desk, a bookshelf — and now, a camera lens on the ceiling.
Microphones, hidden in corners, eavesdropped on every whisper, every sigh, every trembling breath.
He'd been informed coldly : "asaprecaution," pending the arrival of the Inspectors.
A special team, mandated by theHighCouncilforAcademicRegulation, dispatched to investigate what they called a "Level 9 anomaly."
Dante didn't protest. He didn't have the strength.
Ever since he found Johanna lying in that pool of shadow and blood, everything had been a blur.
He still felt the pain he had absorbed from her — raw, gnawing.
His heart beat with the same silent plea :
— "Please let her live. Just let her live."
