Chapter 25: Interrogation
His mind flashed back to the shattered cathedral when Padva had vanished with her Doomsday Panther, and Decterion had gone after her.
When the conqueror returned alone, Jethro assumed Padva was dead. But, thinking about it now— even though memories of what happened after the flames were vague —when he stepped out of the Rift, he had seen Padva.
She was kneeling on the iron roof of the mechhouse, her wounded Panther sprawled on the ground.
So it was true. She had survived.
There was this sudden sense of relief he felt, like a strong weight of guilt had been uplifted from his shoulders. He wasn’t the sole survivor anymore, and even though he preferred that everyone had survived, one more was good enough.
"You seem very pleased about that," Velara Ardent observed, her violet eyes dissecting his reaction unnervingly.
Jethro’s brows squeezed at the remark. "Should I not be?"
"It depends," Velara countered, her tone analytical and sharp. "Some new tamers would want to be titled as the sole survivor of the Darc Throne Depths, especially when they have very little to cling to. But you have to share that spotlight with someone else."
Jethro squinted his gaze at her. "I don’t know what kind of reaction you’re trying to get from me. Or what you’re even trying to insinuate. But I don’t care about that stuff. In fact, up until now, I was fine with not being a Riftwalker."
"Up until now?" Velara’s sculpted eyebrow arched curiously. "What has changed?"
Realizing himself, Jethro’s eyes widened for a moment, looking at the president’s deadpan face before slumping back slightly in the cold crystal chair, a bored exhale escaping him. "What exactly does this psychoanalysis have to do with anything anyway?"