After freshening up and donning his spare uniform, Adam sank into the red sofa. The softness comforted his back as much as it reminded him of the urgent need for a solution. He clutched his kneecaps, the fabric of his dark pants ruffling in the silence as a deep furrow creased his brow.
Quintella couldn't attend Grimhilde's training. He wouldn't allow the girl to be whipped—to be tortured. But the madwoman had made her intolerance of slackers clear. What would she do if he forced Quintella to skip class? Not just deducting points. He was sure of it. Somehow, he didn't believe Grimhilde would let him shoulder the blame. Instead, she'd take her anger out on Quintella if she hadn't already planned to do so after he had defied her in public.
