"What's going on here?"
The door slid open and Ezekiel stepped inside. His telepathic voice didn't sound angry, nor did his posture signal impatience, but he had the two combattants separated at once with percussive telekinetic force. It shot the red-haired Candidate back against the wall behind the podium, and Absolon crashed ass-first into a desk.
Corsica had informed Ezekiel that his cousin was running wild--and in those words, too--and Ezekiel had hastened down the corridor from one of the physical combat classrooms to intercede.
"Solo, stop." He exerted the same pressure as he'd done earlier, in the gymnasium, when the kid had gotten into an altercation with yet another Candidate. Eyeing Livos, who was pushing himself up along the wall and flicking strands of hair back into place, Ezekiel thought that perhaps this instance hadn't been completely unjustified. What someone so unstable was doing at the head of a class, whatever his mathematical skill, Zeke would never know. But such was the judgment from on high.
"Livos," was all he said, warningly, to the one who ought to know better. Liv shrugged and abated, hands on his hips, still leaning against the wall.
Zeke switched his attention to his cousin. "Solo, come on. Control, remember? You're going to make me look bad."
