They shut behind him with a deep, final thud.
"Coren Vale," Thayne said, his voice precise, "step forward."
Soren stepped.
"Further."
He did.
Close enough that he could see the thin ink-stains on the Inquisitor's fingers.
Close enough that he could feel the weight of evaluation.
"State your name for the record," Thayne said.
"Coren Vale," he answered easily—no hitch, no hesitation.
"And your origin?"
"Border provinces. West fringe."
True enough that it didn't sound rehearsed. He'd practiced this identity until it was muscle.
Thayne watched him like a specimen on a table. "We've received a report."
Kaelor stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Renn continued, "Multiple reports, actually. Regarding your… elevation." Her gaze flickered—not hostile, not friendly, assessing. "Instructor Lysandra's personal endorsement is not a trivial event."
Soren said nothing. Speaking would only open doors they would pry into.
