Northern tilted his head.
"As I'm feeling quite generous today, I won't tear your head off your neck."
He said it looking down at Iren, and released his grip. The pompous noble dropped, slamming onto the ground, his horrified expression glued to Northern's face.
He was the fastest man within these walls, even the Commander had commended his speed Talent, and how matchless it was. And yet this stranger, whoever he was, had caught him. Iren shoved himself half-upright, palms grinding into the dirt, and what set his jaw hardest was not the fall but the face above him: the man didn't look a day older than the rest of them.
Northern ignored the stare and glanced at the others.
The moment his gaze swept over them, the line shifted — a slight discomfort working down it, boots scuffing into place, hands drifting to the smalls of their backs, spines pulling straight one after another.
