Noah chuckled.
"Aren't you even going to ask who this disciple is?"
Taz shook.
The question landed on him the way an unexpected sound landed on someone already on edge — a visible flinch, small but present, his shoulders drawing inward for a fraction of a second before he caught himself. His throat moved as he gulped, the sound of it audible in the quiet of the office.
He was curious. That was the honest truth underneath all the fear, and it had been sitting there since the moment Noah had dropped the word disciple into the conversation and changed the entire shape of the situation.
A personal disciple of Mr. White — someone in this academy, walking these corridors, sitting in these classrooms, existing within the same institutional walls that Taz managed every day.
Someone he had presumably seen, possibly spoken to, maybe even made decisions about without knowing what they were.
The curiosity had teeth.
He wanted to know who it was.
