Green was certain Kraft hadn't told the truth. At the very least, he hadn't told the whole truth.
No evidence was needed. Anyone who dealt with people like him for long would reach the same conclusion: they were a bunch of well-disguised oddballs whose greatest pleasure in life was digging into certain taboos. And the more others avoided a place, the less anyone dared to venture there, the more they liked it.
For people like them, there didn't even need to be anything to gain. The answer itself—or even the process of investigating—was reward enough.
If they were occasionally willing to reveal a little about what they were researching, it only meant their actual progress was at least a step or two ahead.
Much like the theory that Human Anatomy definitely had an unpublished section—the kind that could get its author sentenced to prison.
Kraft was the same sort of person. For a while, Green had thought there was a difference between this professor and that other professor, but the more he learned, the more he revised his opinion: "a Morrison with a stronger sense of social belonging and higher moral standards."
This guy couldn't have been using Spellcraft for the first time.
Green would stake years of experience on it: absolutely not. In fact, he should have realized sooner. There was that first clash in the dark when they met, and then Kraft's behavior when they were pursued through the Tomb Maze.
It wasn't night vision or anything like instinct. It was more like he had another eye, hanging "above," observing from an angle that was never blocked by darkness or obstacles like walls.
The thought of being watched that way was almost horrifying.
Of course, Green hadn't thought so at the time. Some people simply perceived the world