His pulseArmor, riddled with field patches and pressure seals, is that of a man who’s faced weeks of corridor fighting and emerged with a reputation for luck and leading from the front. His face is a mirror of mine, haggard from strain and sleeplessness. This is not a spoiled, entitled princeling. This is the last of Silenius’s blood. A man who has come to see if he too can conquer.
