The commander didn't sit. He didn't offer a chair either.
He just studied Lindarion like a puzzle with half the pieces hidden.
"Let's start simple," Velhart said. "Where were you?"
Lindarion held his gaze.
"I'm back now. That should be enough."
Velhart's brow didn't twitch. "It's not."
"Then adjust your expectations."
Beside him, Lira hadn't moved, but her left hand rested lightly against the leather wrap of her blade. Not posturing. Not nervous. Just ready.
Sylric stood near the door, already halfway into a slouch, arms crossed like he was watching a mildly disappointing stage play.
Velhart didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"You vanished from an active warzone," the commander said. "The Academy was attacked. Mages died. A couple students vanished. You—a Sunblade—were taken. And now you appear on the back of a beast that shouldn't exist."
Lindarion didn't flinch. "You want a full report, write to my father."
"That's not how this works."
