Elder Rong sat alone in his private chambers for two full hours after the corridor, his dead arm wrapped tight against his chest by a medicine hall attendant too frightened to ask questions. When Garrow Veld finally arrived, summoned by a curt note rather than a face-to-face order, Rong didn't bother with pleasantries.
"The labor disciple," Rong said, voice tight with pain and fury in equal measure. "Wei Liang. You know the name."
"Everyone in the inner courtyard knows the name now, Elder." Garrow stood at attention, young, broad-shouldered, ambitious in the particular way of disciples who'd spent years waiting for an elder to finally notice them. "They're saying he dropped you in three exchanges."
Rong's eyes narrowed. "Careful."
"My apologies, Elder. I only meant—"
"I know what you
