The voices sharpened as Vencian's eyes fixed on the far side of the hall. Students leaned aside to catch sight of the exchange, but the details of their words slipped through the distance. What reached him was tone—cold from one side, pressed from the other.
Yanis Rusmar stood opposite Seris Valemont, her arms drawn close to her chest. She tried to speak, chin lifted, but each sentence seemed cut short by Seris's replies.
Seris's gaze carried through the crowd like a knife point. Her words came clipped, precise, each one leaving no room to rise against them. She didn't even needed raise her voice.
"…if that is the best you can manage, then your place in this hall is charity, never merit," Seris said.
Yanis's lips tightened. "You're twisting it. That isn't what I meant."
"It is exactly what you meant. You only lack the wit to recognize it."
