"Damn it all!" Victor's fist slammed into the table, shattering it into pieces. "That filthblood killed Levin?"
My first vision in a month came without warning, plunging me into the middle of a hot argument in a faraway inn. Across the ruined remnants from Victor was Grace, casually seated and sipping a pint of ale. Around them, much plainer, more ordinary folk tried their best to ignore the two high-profile individuals currently disturbing their meals.
"That's what Korra said," she replied evenly. She eyed the broken fragments of wood littering the ground with distaste. "Have a little poise, Victor. We can't have the common folk thinking heroes are so volatile and immature."
He glared at her, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap. "How can you be so calm about this? Levin's dead, Grace. Dead. And you just let his murderers go."
"Murderers? He attacked them first, Victor. Is it not just to defend yourself?"
