Bella did not answer. She leaned back in her chair, folding her hands on the table again, almost exactly as Morgan had seen her when he entered. He looked at her posture, said nothing more, and pulled open the door before walking out.
The dim yellow light from the corridor flooded in behind him again, filling the last sliver before the door closed.
As Morgan descended the stairs, the curve at the corner of his mouth vanished, replaced by the expression a patrol officer should wear—calm-faced, with his eyes swiftly sweeping both sides of the corridor. When he reached the turn on the second floor, he glanced sideways at the surveillance mirror in the corner—the officer on the other side would record the duration of this routine patrol and his condition afterward.
He slowed for a step, raised his head, and nodded toward the mirror as though performing the routine courtesy of confirming the surveillance was functioning properly, then continued downstairs.
Douglas was already standing by the window in the entrance hall. He did not turn around, but when Morgan approached, he spoke in an even tone, as though confirming something unimportant. "She believed it?"
Morgan stopped slightly behind him and spread his hands. His palms were empty, but the gesture itself said everything. "She believed half of it. Whether she believes the other half depends on whether what we show her next looks convincing enough."
Douglas finally turned around. His gaze lingered on Morgan's face for a moment, and the line of his mouth relaxed slightly. "The surveillance footage showed that she cast a shielding charm. Wandless Casting. She was highly skilled. A prisoner at that level wouldn't spend more than a decade in Azkaban without finding some way to keep training."
Morgan gave an almost imperceptible nod and