My son, my property

Vice recognised him too. He leaned forward towards the screen, his eyebrows drawn above his starlit eyes. "Is that Vital?"

Ivo looked at that tanned face, dark hair falling into thick waves in front of his eyes as he shouted. The silver bands cupping his cheeks flashed in the fluorescent light of the interrogation room. Even the blueish footage couldn't hide the vivid tattoos climbing over his collar and down his cuffs like vines.

He looked younger, but not by much -- less worn out, maybe -- but it was definitely Vital.

"Friend of yours?" Aavani asked Vice.

"An acquaintance. It doesn't matter," he waved at the screen. "Is there sound on this?"

Aavani heaved a sigh. "Hold on." She got up, turned the monitor back around and tapped some more at the keyboard. "I don't work miracles. You gotta go to one of the temples and pay for those."