[There's something wild in his expression when Zekarion lowers his hand, though it doesn't return to his side, nor does he straighten up. The air almost seems charged around him—a thrum of power, maybe danger. He is teetering on the edge and looking down into the abyss.]
Our minds have been tampered with— [he says, barely above a whisper, though it's far from a gentle tone,] — and you complain about school?
no subject
Our minds have been tampered with— [he says, barely above a whisper, though it's far from a gentle tone,] — and you complain about school?