In the observation room above the grounds, the noise of the tournament was a distant thing — muffled footsteps, the occasional crack of a spell somewhere in the forest, the ambient hum of several hundred cadets doing something simultaneously. Up here it was quiet. Controlled.
A wide floating screen hovered in front of Vance, its surface cycling through different feeds from the examination — pairs fighting, pairs running, pairs making decisions under pressure that would matter later. His eyes had settled on one feed in particular and stayed there.
He watched it for a moment without speaking.
Then he exhaled slowly. "You weren't exaggerating," he said, his voice low but carrying the specific weight of someone revising an assessment they thought was already complete. "That first-year kid. He's not someone we can afford to overlook."
