His tone became full of disdain. "People like that? They're the worst kind. The ones who wear masks even in solitude. The ones who will change their principles the moment the wind shifts. They lack conviction. They lack the spine to stand firm when everything turns against them."
He walked towards the window watching the grasses sway away gently from the drifting wind. "And though they reached the eighth floor—a place meant only for those of rare will and rare talent—I know deep down that they won't achieve anything great. Not because they weren't strong, but because they weren't anchored. They'll drift through life, making choices based on what sounds right instead of what they truly believe. They'll falter when it matters most."
He glanced back at Max, his expression unreadable. "That's why I said I don't like your truth, but I respect it. You didn't flinch. You didn't hide. That makes you dangerous—but it also makes you real. And that's what this trial is all about."
