Proctor Kellen's office smelled of chalk dust, climbing rope, and fear.
It was a small room in the faculty tower, sparse and neat. A map of the Hollow Lands hung on the wall, pins marking the routes he had sabotaged. A coil of high-tensile line sat on the desk, cut into perfect lengths.
Pierce stood by the window, staring out at the gray morning. He didn't look triumphant. He looked old.
"He taught here for ten years," Pierce said. "He taught me how to tie a figure-eight on a sheer face."
"People change," Liora said. She was going through the desk drawers, her movements precise and clinical. "Or their circumstances do."
I stood by the door, watching. Cael leaned against the frame next to me. We were the witnesses.
Liora pulled a thin, black ledger from the bottom drawer. It wasn't a grade book.
She opened it. Her eyes scanned the columns.
"Gambling," she said. "The betting pits in the Lower Quarter. He was deep. Five years of losses."
"How much?" Pierce asked.
