By evening, someone had broken Valdrake's arm in the telling.
Aiden heard it from the other end of the training washroom. He had his hands under the tap and his shirt folded on the dry ledge beside the basin. The boy speaking had watched from the rail. Aiden remembered him there, leaning so far forward that an attendant had made him step back.
"It wasn't broken," Aiden said.
The boy looked around. "I said it sounded broken."
"He could move it."
"All right. You hit him hard."
That was true. Aiden bent over the basin and put water on his face. When he straightened, the boy had come closer, bringing the other two with him.
They stopped beside the dry ledge. One put a hand down near the folded shirt and drew it back when he saw the water running from his sleeve. Aiden moved the shirt farther from the basin without thinking.
"You don't have to tell him," the boy said to his companion. "He was there."
"So were you."
