Cater holds his breath, hoping that his death is quick, maybe even a touch relieved that he can wash his hands of responsibility. He did his best. Nobody can say he didn't, even if he really failed his last gambit...but when the attack comes down, Riddle's still screaming and Cater's still breathing.

He should be shaking, he should be sick from terror. Maybe he's just completely disassociated and that's why he hasn't blacked out. And there's Riddle, so much closer than he'd thought before.

"I didn't say a thing against you," he says in a calm, steady voice that he can't believe is his own. "I never questioned a single one of your rulings. All that I am is yours...but if you'd only have my head, that's your decision to make."

As if inviting a final, decisive strike, Cater lulls his head back to expose the curve of his neck to the levitating, berserker-mode Riddle.

"And you are always right."