The room still carried the smoke of Clara's fight when Tron shoved another folder across the table. His fingers tapped fast.
"Enough healers," he said, grin crooked, but his eyes were darker than before. "Now we talk Borin Keld. The ground-eater. The one who thinks dirt itself bows to him."
I didn't answer right away. I like watching Tron when he's itching. He leads intelligence in the academy, but the boy has an addiction — he wants to be the cleverest man breathing. That hunger made him useful, but also dangerous.
"Borin doesn't fight you," Tron went on, voice eager. "He makes the stage do it. Collapsing floors, spikes rising out of nowhere, sudden quake waves. Half his victories come from people stumbling instead of striking."
