Despite everything he'd already revealed, Ignatious wore an expression of deep reluctance on his face as he looked at his young peers from the Church of the Holy Lord of Light.
Diarmuid's face looked pale and strained beneath his close-cropped beard, and the desserts he'd collected earlier in the evening lay half-eaten and forgotten on his plate as he grappled with the magnitude of the Church's lies.
For a man who had dedicated his life to the search for truth, rooting out simple human wickedness and greed from genuine heresy, it was as if he'd been thrown from a horse that he had trusted for his entire life. Now, he was caught in mid-air, suspended in the moment between being thrown and impact on the ground, and his dark eyes were locked on Ignatious as though praying that his fellow Inquisitor had a way to catch him before he hit the ground.
