"This is unacceptable!"
The voice cracked through the hall like a whip.
Aldric stood at his seat, his long black hair pulled so tight against his scalp that the tension seemed physical. His hands were flat on the table—not resting, but pressed, as though the wood was the only thing keeping him from rising.
"What sort of troublemakers do you have in your class?"
No one answered. He didn't wait.
"And you haven't been to class in a month. Is this your method of teaching?"
His voice rose.
"Unacceptable."
He turned to Nox, who sat at his habitual place—what would have been the head of the table if the table weren't round. Nox's fingers were pinched against the bridge of his nose. The gesture was small. Controlled. The only sign of weariness in an otherwise impassive face.
He had avoided addressing this when Aldric brought it up before. Now, with the matter raised in open meeting, with the other professors watching, the avoidance had become its own kind of statement.
