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The creak of the floorboards is what wakes Iun, a small warning that someone is approaching his bedroom door mere seconds before the knob begins to turn. He isn't worried; this is by far not the first time his mother has entered his room when she needed to, and it certainly won't be the last. His hand curls automatically around the knife hilt under his pillow simply by habit, but he doesn't bother to do anything else as his eyes slide open, the door swinging to match them.
And in the next instant, Iun is on his feet, shoulders coiled and feet planted, for the person entering is not his mother at all, but instead Ulrich Tappaja—another Warden, perhaps, but not the one who should be in this home.
Ulrich looks Iun over with a serious frown that only deepens as he takes in Iun's appearance; Iun doesn't bother to follow his gaze, he knows what he looks like. He knows the blood that currently paints his clothes. He won't take his eyes off a potential threat for something as trivial as a few stains, no matter their origin.
"Whose blood is that, Servitor Byrd?" Ulrich asks. There's a weight to his words, like it's a question he already has the answer to, but Iun doesn't give a shit what he thinks he does or does not know—it's a cold day in hell that Iun discusses his work with anyone other than his mother or Premier Wynters, and he certainly isn't starting today.
So instead, he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, but then, it doesn't have to. It takes effect the way he wants it to, showcased in the clenching of Ulrich's jaw that says he's not immune to being unsettled by Iun despite his fancy job. Very few people are.
"Can I help you, Warden?" Iun asks. He twirls the knife in his hand. Ulrich's gaze flicks to it briefly, his lips tightening. Iun's smile widens. "I believe this is called breaking and entering—I hear it's frowned upon."
"You need to come with me," Ulrich says.
Iun scoffs a laugh and, just to annoy him, adds on an eyeroll. "If you were supposed to be doing whatever it is you're doing, you'd have Warden Byrd with you giving me instruction. But considering I don't see her around—"
"Your mother is dead," Ulrich interrupts severely, "and I think you know that."
Iun stares at him. Ulrich's expression is made of stone, but it's...not born of deception nor of grief. This isn't a man trying to trick Iun or one coming to comfort in the wake of a death. This is...a job. Ulrich is doing his job right now. And I think you know that.
No, no she can't be dead. There's no way she's dead. Iun spoke to her mere hours ago, checking in after he completed his job. She chided him to wash up but her eyes were amused when he insisted on heading straight to bed. She was working late, as she always was. She was fine. There's no way in just a few hours she went from 'fine' to 'dead'.
But then, Iun knows better than most just how quickly death can happen. In the blink of an eye a throat can be slit, a heart stabbed, a body pushed from a cliff. Hell, in a few hours' time Iun could slaughter a building-full, let alone one person.
And I think you know that.
...Ulrich thinks—
Iun laughs. It sounds jagged and unhinged even to his own ears. It makes Ulrich tense. "Oh you must be joking."
"Whose blood is that?" Ulrich snaps back. Iun doesn't say a word, and Ulrich's stance firms. "You need to come with me now, Servitor Byrd. It is not a request."
That nearly makes Iun laugh again. Who does he think he is to command Iun like this? Ulrich's useless little Bureau of Valor holds no sway over what Iun does or does not do, and he might have 'Warden' as his title but that does not make him Iun's master. There are two people in the world Iun follows without hesitation, two more on top of that whom he'd obey with barely a question, and it's truly absurd that Ulrich in any way thinks he ranks worthy of Iun following his orders without someone better telling him to.
"I think that you'll find it is a request actually, Warden," Iun says. "Because unless all five of the Most High are dead and you've somehow found yourself as Premier, then you couldn't do more than request if you fucking tried."
If Iun's mother were here, she'd give him a quelling look for that. She would be less than impressed with him for speaking that way to a Warden, and that one look would be enough to get Iun to apologize and bow his head. But if Ulrich is to be believed then his mother is dead and outside of her there is only one fucking person he'll submit to. How is he supposed to do jackshit for a useless motherfucker like Ulrich?
Frustration tightens Ulrich's brows—and his fists. It makes Iun smile, hoping he'll take a swing. Hoping he'll give Iun an excuse.
Instead, Ulrich says, "I am here under command of Premier Wynters, who instructed me to carry out this investigation as I deem necessary, whatever that may mean. Right now it means bringing in the cleaner who might've murdered his own mother." A twinge in Iun's gut that he shoves away ruthlessly. "So are you going to continue resisting, which will force me to tell the Premier that you were uncooperative and belligerent, or are you going to follow me?"
Iun wants to slit his fucking throat.
Instead, he tucks his knife into his belt and says, "Go ahead then, lead the way."
Ulrich looks a little too proud of himself for that, making the urge to kill him where he stands rise even higher, but seems to know better than to actually gloat. Or maybe he's not the gloating sort, but Iun doubts it—you don't become the head of the Bureau of Valor without enjoying a little bit of superiority.
There's the clink of metal as Ulrich reaches into his belt, and then he produces a pair of manacles.
Iun laughs outright, eyes crinkling with mirth. He starts forward and, despite the way Ulrich stiffens, doesn't touch the Warden at all, instead bypassing him completely to slip out the door. "Over my dead body am I putting those on," he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the house.
Ulrich's quick steps catch up to him soon, then overtake him, 'leading' the way to the Justice Building. He doesn't try to force Iun into wearing the manacles, which is probably the smartest thing he's done this entire conversation—Iun would've stabbed him in the gut if he tried, and then Iun really would be in trouble for causing harm to a Warden.
Because despite Ulrich's beliefs and accusations, Iun did not kill his mother. He would never. He would kill himself at her command before he ever rose a hand to her. It's—it's fucking unimaginable to him. And as soon as this is done he will find the person who actually killed her and spend a little quality time with them.
The trip isn't long, and soon they're walking through the halls of the Justice Building. Iun knows this place well just like he knows all the other places of import in Hearthome, having memorized their layouts long ago as a mental exercise. When he was young and still trailing in his mother's wake, he used to make a game of how deep into restricted areas he could get without being noticed. He plays a similar game now in his mind, if in reverse; how easy it would be for him to leave this place with no one the wiser the instant Ulrich turns his back.
But he'll obey for now, if this is what Premier Wynters wants. They can go through the red tape and clear this up and then Iun will fade into the shadows where he does his best work.
They turn a corner, and there Premier Wynters is, currently in serious conversation with another member of the Triumvirate, Emily Froslinn. Both their gazes flick over to the people approaching, and surprise flicks across Emily's face at the sight of Iun, her eyes widening when they take in his clothes.
Premier Wynters is far more subtle in his reactions, as he always has been. His lips thin and his eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't look angry. Iun blinks placidly back at him.
"I found him two doors down from Althea's body, asleep covered in blood," Ulrich says, and Iun's chest tightens. Two doors down? She was right there and I missed it? She died right there? "And he won't let me put these on." He raises the metal cuffs.
Premier Wynters releases a sharp breath through his nose. "Iun."
Iun offers up his wrists. Ulrich makes a noise that's somewhere between irritated and incredulous, but doesn't voice whatever his thoughts are about Iun's newly easy compliance. He locks the cuffs into place, tight enough that Iun would struggle to get out of them even if he dislocated his thumb—unfortunate—and then, apparently emboldened by the Premier's presence, takes Iun's arm in hand and begins leading him down the hall.
Iun goes pliantly, because Premier Wynters didn't tell Ulrich to stop or give Iun permission to stop him himself. He's led to the row of cells usually reserved for people awaiting trial in the Justice Building, and it strikes Iun as strange that he's being put here instead of in the Bureau of Containment where this kind of shit is usually dealt with. In fact, why was Ulrich the one investigating in the first place? Servitors of Containment should've been handling that.
Iun should be handling that. Or really, aiding those leading the investigation. Why the fuck is the Warden of Valor heading this shit? Why is Premier Wynters keeping this away from the Bureau that's job it is, especially when said Bureau would fight tooth and nail to solve their own Warden's murder?
Pointless questions maybe, and not for Iun to ask in any case.
When instructed, Iun tells Ulrich about each weapon on his person, letting them be taken from him. It's not a lot; Iun was sleeping after all, and he might not've bothered to change but sleep is hard with a sword strapped to your back. Still, he relinquishes his dagger no matter how much he doesn't want to, and the garroting wire, and the throwing darts.
The garroting wire gives Ulrich pause, and Iun's pretty sure the wide smile on his face doesn't help Ulrich feel any better about the picture before him.
The cell is shut, locking Iun on the inside and Ulrich staring him down from the safety of the other side. Iun can't help but raise an eyebrow, a little amused by the proceedings. It's just—this is absurd. Iun of all people being locked in a cell in the Justice Building for the murder of a woman who was nearly his entire world. And the fact that Ulrich feels safe, that he looks at Iun chained behind bars and thinks that means Iun is toothless—that's just fucking hysterical. Iun hasn't been toothless a day in fucking life. His mother raised him to be so much more than that.
"Now," Ulrich says, as Emily appears, standing against the wall and watching with sharp eyes. Ulrich straightens under her attention, but doesn't take his eyes off of Iun. "It's time to tell me whose blood that is on your clothes, Servitor."
It's funny that he thinks a change in scenery means a change in Iun's opinion. He doesn't talk about his work. He doesn't discuss the jobs his mother and Premier Wynters send him on. He fucking doesn't.
Ulrich lets Iun's silence linger for a minute, then says, "Where were you last night? What did you do?"
Phrasing it a different way isn't going to make Iun suddenly tell him. No wonder Containment handles interrogations; Valor is clearly woefully incompetent.
"Took a midnight stroll," Iun drawls. "Went to see the sights. The water does look ever so pretty in the moonlight."
Ulrich's jaw ticks with frustration. It's fucking funny that he's so easily annoyed by Iun, so Iun smiles, which only makes Ulrich's frustration worse. "Do you think this is a game?" he demands. "Your mother is dead, boy. Do you have any remorse?"
Iun tries to remember the last thing his mother said to him, but he can't quite recall the words. It was some dry remark on the state of his clothes, he thinks. It was something about making a mess. But Iun can't...the exact words are escaping him. They weren't—important, at the time. He didn't know they'd be her last to him. He didn't know that would be all he got.
Iun has lived nearly twenty-two years without a father. He doesn't want to live twenty-two more without his mother at the helm.
"I did not kill her," Iun says measuredly. He looks at Emily, the far more important of the pair in front of him. "I didn't kill Warden Byrd."
Emily stares back at him impassively. It's strange to see her so serious; between her and his mother, she's always been the more...exuberant one, sharp quick smiles to Althea's cold stares. Her being so grave right now...it makes everything feel much more real.
"Then prove your innocence," Ulrich says. "Explain what you were up to. Give us anything that would show you didn't kill your mother."
Iun can't do that. Secrecy is paramount. They don't get to know what his job was. They don't even get to know that he was on a job at all. They don't get jackshit from him unless Premier Wynters looks Iun dead in the eye and tells him to tell them. And even then, it might give Iun pause. How can he betray his mother's secrets just because she's not around anymore to know? How could he ever betray her teachings like that?
"Did you know about the secret room in her home office?" Ulrich asks next, when Iun doesn't speak.
Of course Iun knows about that place. It's where his mother's most confidential meetings took place. Is that where she was found, where she was killed? How did Iun miss it? How did Iun not know there was someone in the house with her? The room has soundproofing, true, but he should've known. He shouldn't have been asleep while she was meeting with someone. He shouldn't have slept through her murder. How could he sleep two doors away from where she was being killed?
Why didn't she tell him she was meeting with someone?
She—she didn't need to tell him anything, and it's never been Iun's place to question her or Premier Wynters. Iun is a weapon in their arsenal, not a partner to whom they have to explain themselves. His mother didn't have to run her agenda past him. But usually she'd mention, she'd let him know, and he'd be on guard ready to intervene if he needed to. Why did she send him to bed without telling him they'd have an outsider in their home? Why didn't she have him ready to defend?
Her secrets and her counsel are her own—were her own. But now that she's gone Iun wants to understand why.
What he really wants is Premier Wynters to arrive and help clear this whole thing up. He wants to go back to work. He wants to be tasked with killing the person who killed his mother. He wants to serve the Premier as he's done since he was ten years old. He wants this ridiculous imprisonment to be over.
"Servitor Byrd, are you going to answer any questions?" Emily cuts in.
Iun snorts. "Depends on what you want to talk about. If you're interested in hearing about my favorite color, I'm all too happy to discuss."
Ulrich makes a disgusted face. Emily chuckles, quiet and dark. Iun rocks back on his heels, gaze flicking between them, waiting for whatever's next.
"Then we're done here for the time being," Emily says. Ulrich turns to face her incredulously, but Emily pays him no mind, her eyes locked onto Iun's. "Premier Wynters has ordered that you remain here while evidence is gathered." AKA, 'Don't escape, Iun'. "In two days' time we will convene to determine what happened." Her eyes narrow as she scans Iun. "Someone will bring you a change of clothes."
Then she's gone, striding down the hall. Ulrich stares hard at Iun for a moment, lips curling back when Iun just smiles at him, and then he's gone, too, following Emily.
Two days. Iun only has to put up with this for two days and then he can go back to work. He can sit still for two days, if that's what Premier Wynters wants. He's held out in worse situations for much longer at the Premier's command. Two days in a Justice Building cell is practically a cake walk.
As Emily said, a change of clothes is brought to him, his hands momentarily unlocked through the bars to allow him to strip and redress without issue. He doesn't fight the return of the cuffs, remembering it's what Premier Wynters instructed, but he's not happy about it, either. He doesn't like having his movement so thoroughly restricted. He can't fight as well like this, can't move as quietly with the clanking chain.
Although, it would probably be pretty fun to kill someone like this. Get the chain around their neck and pull, trapping them against him by way of the cuffs. He doubts he'll get to test that out but it's fun to imagine.
Meals are brought to him periodically, and he's escorted to the bathroom down the hall a few times by people with their hands on their weapons like they expect him to go rabid and escape. They're idiots, honestly; he has his command, and his command he will follow.
Two days pass with no one saying a word to him, no one official coming to interrogate, and then all of a sudden there's activity. Ulrich returns, along with a few Servitors of Valor, all of them having serious expressions as they escort him through the halls to the courtroom.
It is strangely silent inside, Iun's footsteps echoing in a way they normally don't when he walks. There are no people in the gallery, no reporters taking notes, no attendant Servitors of Justice or other minders. Instead, the room holds only the thirteen Wardens, the leaders of Hearthome. And they all turn to look at Iun as he's brought forth.
Or, no, not thirteen. Not now. Twelve. Because my mother is dead.
Judge Zakaz Lakia sits raised above them all slightly, but close beside him is Premier Wynters as the leader of them all. Zakaz might run the courtroom, might run the Bureau of Justice as a whole, but there's no illusion that the heaviest weighted vote is that of their Premier.
"Hi, everyone," Iun says with a wide smile. He waves, making his chains rattle obnoxiously. Premier Wynters clicks his tongue, and Iun subsides, letting the more somber attitude seep in.
"Iun Byrd," Zakaz says, leaning forward, "you've been accused of the murder of Warden Althea Byrd. What is your plea?"
This is fucking absurd. They cannot seriously be asking him this, can they? They cannot seriously believe he killed his mother. For what fucking purpose would he do that?
"Not guilty," Iun says, laughing because he can't help it. He looks at the gathered Wardens, at all the grave faces staring down at him. Many of them have known him since he was a child. All of them have benefitted from his work. They must know the lengths he'd go for his mother. How is this considered a possibility?
Zakaz nods, like he expected that, and then turns his attention to Ulrich and Emily, as the two who headed the investigation. "Your case?"
Their case, it turns out, is a bunch of absolute bullshit, their evidence and reasoning circumstantial and ridiculous at best.
1) Iun was found sleeping covered in blood. Strange to an outsider, absolutely, but truly not unusual for Iun.
2) He has refused to answer any questions about where the blood came from or what he was doing the night before to account for his whereabouts. True, but you don't hold a position like Iun's and tell people about your job.
3) He was found in that state two doors down from Althea's body, specifically from the room in which she was murdered. Not great, but truly more of an insult to Iun's observational abilities than a sign of guilt.
4) She was killed in a room barely anyone knew the existence of, but to which Iun had ample access. Technically true, but then, it's in Iun's house. Of course he could access it, he could access the fucking kitchen too.
5) There was no sign of anyone else having been in the room recently except for the pair of Byrds. Stupid to put forth as evidence, considering assassins who are worth their salt don't leave evidence of their presence.
And then the real kicker. The supposed motive they came up with for why Iun killing his mother is feasible: Power.
In the current political landscape of Hearthome, the concept of a dynasty is something they all avoid like the plague, refusing to let something like that take root after all the work the Empiricists did to take over. This means that, if you're a close relative of a Warden, you're really not getting any power whatsoever unless they retire or die, to avoid multiple members from the same family conglomerating power.
The relevance of that here being that apparently they think Iun was interested in becoming a Warden. His mother was being eyed for promotion, which would leave her seat as the Warden of Containment open, a role that apparently people think Iun wants. But with Althea still holding political office, there would be no chance of Iun taking her old seat. He would be 'stuck' with no ability to move upward, as long as she was alive.
Iun laughs, long and outright, at that reasoning. He expects others to laugh with him, to tell the so-called investigators what a load of bullshit that is. But despite the concern on some faces, despite the indecision on others, no one protests. No one looks like they know what utter garbage that all is.
And Iun realizes that, despite how well he knows all of them, how deeply he's followed and researched those in positions of power in his nation, they don't know a single thing about him. They...they've never had a true, lasting interaction with him, never learned who he is. They don't know that he doesn't want power. They don't know what his mother was to him, the way she raised him, what she raised him for. They don't know Iun is a weapon down to his core, made to be wielded by those in charge. They don't know he likes being that.
What they see is a boy who's been killing people for years and does it with delight. What they see is a heartless machine who ignores their commands and bows only to the Premier. They don't see a dog on a leash—they see a potential Warden of Containment, and thus they think he sees himself that way, too. They all see him as capable of killing the woman who created him.
All except one.
Iun looks at Premier Wynters. He sits with his hands folded against his chin, watching the proceedings with sharp eyes. He hasn't spoken a word, listening intently as the 'evidence' is laid out before them. He doesn't speak now, either.
But he knows. He knows intimately the relationship Iun had with his mother, the weapon she forged him into. He knows how deeply that loyalty runs, hell, he's benefitted from it countless times. He holds Iun's loyalty, his reverence—he knows Iun would sooner kill himself than ever betray Althea Byrd or Watson Wynters. He knows Iun would do anything for the two of them. They made him this way. His mother made him this way. He knows Iun doesn't want power. He knows Iun is a blade, not a warrior. Not a leader. He's the knife that ends a life, not the one giving the order.
He knows.
And he is silent.
Iun knows Premier Wynters always has a reason, a plan, something cooking in his brain. It isn't Iun's place to push against that. He doesn't have to say shit right now, whether for or against Iun, and Iun knows that. He just...doesn't understand.
"None of this has convinced me," Zakaz says with a frown. "It's compelling, I'll give you that, but circumstantial."
"He was found covered in blood barely twenty feet away!" Ulrich protests, gesturing largely towards Iun.
"Considering the work the Bureau of Containment does," Zakaz says, "I do not find that to be largely out of the ordinary for Servitor Byrd."
There's a vague sort of distaste in Zakaz's voice, but Iun laughs at the words anyway, grinning when Ulrich glares at him. There's a faint murmur between various other Wardens, which quickly gets silenced when Zakaz pointedly clears his throat.
"This evidence hangs on a knife's edge, and I cannot see it falling one way or the other," he says. "Which leaves me with one option." He turns to Premier Wynters. "With your permission, I'd like to prod the boy's mind. Find the answers we so desperately need to solve the death of Warden Byrd."
Iun laughs again, because Zakaz can't be fucking serious. Premier Wynters looks at Iun, and Iun quiets, biting his tongue to swallow down the humor. He just didn't think this circus could get any more ridiculous, but here they are, thinking there's any world where Premier Wynters grants permission for something like that. It's not uncommon for truly difficult cases, but for someone like Iun, who knows so much—too much? No one is being allowed entry into his mind.
Premier Wynters will come up with some excuse for the rest of the Wardens to explain why that can't be done in this particular case and they'll move forward—
"Permission granted," Premier Wynters says.
Iun stares at him, truly at a loss for words. Premier Wynters stares right back, steady and unwavering. Iun's mouth moves soundlessly, no protest making it farther than the back of his throat. It isn't his place to argue if this is the will of the Premier. But just, what the fuck?
Premier Wynters' gaze narrows, ever so slightly, but for the life of him Iun can't decipher what it means.
"This will be uncomfortable," Zakaz says, forcing Iun's attention back to the judge. "Likely painful, in fact. But it will hurt a lot less if you grant me entry—give in, Servitor, and this will be done quickly."
There's a ringing in Iun's ears, something sick in his gut. What the fuck is he supposed to do? Premier Wynters gave Zakaz permission to enter his mind but he did not give Iun permission to let him in, to let anyone see the secrets Iun keeps for his mother and for the Premier himself. He hasn't told Iun to tell the truth, to inform the Wardens about the blood, the job, what Iun was doing. He hasn't told Iun to grant entry.
So Iun can't grant entry.
It starts as a weight behind his eyes, but gets stronger and stronger until it's like someone's hand squeezing down on a balloon, a sort of pressing that threatens to pop the subject of the attention. He can genuinely feel Zakaz's presence in his own mind, making himself known like that makes it better in any way as he tries to slide into Iun's thoughts. Sparks of pain begin to dance through Iun's skull—manageable, for the moment.
It doesn't stay that way for long.
Iun fights hard, pushing back, locking his mind away from the invading presence, and it is agony. He might be yelling. His entire body aches, throbbing in tandem with his racing pulse. He thinks he hears Zakaz's voice at one point instructing him to give in, but he can't.
There are countless secrets in his head for his mother and Premier Wynters. Countless jobs he's done, countless meetings he's watched from the corners, countless plans he's heard unfold. The things he knows, the things he's done under their command, could rip this nation apart. Zakaz might have a reputation for being impartial, but that means next to nothing in matters like this. Iun would rather die than give up Althea or Watson.
So he cannot let Zakaz see a single thing that would prove his innocence.
After what feels like an age, the pain recedes. It takes Iun a moment to truly understand that it's over, and then he takes stock of himself. He's on the floor now, lying on his back. His mouth tastes of blood, and his tongue stings. His throat feels raw, his head throbbing with a terrible headache. His pulse is loud enough to nearly drown out his breathing, which is heavy like he's just run a marathon.
So, not the best state he's ever been in, but by far not the worst, either.
"If I prodded any further," a serious voice says distantly, "he would surely die. There's a reason this is not common practice. And with him fighting me every step of the way..."
"What is that if not a sign of his guilt?" someone else snaps. "He won't tell us a single thing about that night, and now he blocks the last avenue of us learning the truth. How else are we supposed to interpret that?"
"There are many reasons someone might not want a mind invasion," comes another voice. "It's suspicious, yes, but not rock solid evidence of guilt."
"A verdict still needs to be reached," says a fourth. "We could argue all day long—let us vote."
"Iun." Immediately, Iun's head turns in the direction of the familiar voice, seeking out Watson even with his head in a daze. "Do you need aid standing?"
Oh, right. He's on the floor. They're...still in the court room, still doing the trial. He's on the floor.
"No, Sir," Iun croaks, throat feeling like he's swallowed glass. His body is sluggish, but eventually obeys him, letting him push himself into a seated position. The fact that his hands are chained is a serious inconvenience in his current state, but he manages, slowly getting to his knees then feet, locking his legs to ensure he doesn't tumble back to the ground. He's too warm, too unsteady. He wants this to be over.
"The time has come to vote," Zakaz says, rapping his knuckles on the arm of his chair. "Each Warden may vote once. A majority vote will determine outcome."
Iun gathers his mind back into some form of working order, doing his best to shake off the lingering dizziness. He focuses on the Wardens around him, the twelve who will decide his fate. How mind-boggling it still is that he's found himself here.
"I will begin, and we will move clockwise," Zakaz says. "My vote is guilty. I find you to be a danger, Mr. Byrd, in too many ways to count."
He looks to the next person, to Premier Wynters. The Premier taps a finger against his lips in thought once, twice. Then he says, "I abstain from the vote."
The words don't compute at first. Iun wonders if maybe his brain is just a little slow after getting hit with a psychic sledgehammer, that he's just not correctly understanding what the word 'abstain' means. He keeps waiting for it to make sense as one by one the rest of the Wardens vote, but the words don't change. The meaning doesn't change.
Premier Watson Wynters, who has held his leash with Althea since he was ten years old, who has commanded him and wielded him and owned him, has chosen not to vote. Has chosen not to have a voice in something so monumental. In something that could end in Iun's death.
He has a reason. Premier Wynters always has a reason, he's one of the smartest people Iun's ever known. But what could the reason be if not punishment? What could this be for if not to purposefully harm?
Iun has the overwhelming urge to apologize, but he doesn't even know what for. He didn't kill his mother, so he doesn't know what he did wrong. What did he do wrong?
In the end, they find him guilty. The vote is six to five.
For the first time in a long while, Iun does not have the urge to smile.