Elsewhere in the Academy, Gregor moved through the hallways with a purpose that transcended his usual territorial dominance of his shared room with Adam.
He'd been watching. Learning.
Brute intimidation had limits—especially in a place where everyone could fight. One moment you were leaning on a scrawny-looking kid, the next he was drawing steel and putting it into your gut. Power wasn't always loud here, and it wasn't always obvious.
Most of the purebred commoners hadn't arrived by accident. If he thought about it, nearly all of them came with recommendations—combat aptitude, field survival, something that marked them as worth the Academy's time. Sparkshire didn't take nobodies. Not really.
Even Adam—the one he pushed around, or at least liked to think he did—set his instincts on edge. There was something wrong about the boy. Something coiled beneath the surface.
He just couldn't tell what yet.
I need a better strategy, Gregor decided.
