Heads turned. People stared. Approximately three hundred pairs of eyes locked onto Zeph like he'd just announced he was made of solid gold or had spontaneously combusted.
Commander Voss's eyes narrowed as she assessed him, her gaze sharp enough to cut steel. Level 35, C-rank, not someone she knew well but someone who'd survived the descent without injury, without panicking, without doing anything stupid enough to get noticed. Her expression cycled through confusion, suspicion, and grudging respect in the span of three seconds.
"You're volunteering?" she asked, her tone thick with suspicion, because nobody volunteered for obvious suicide missions without a reason, and reasons were usually either noble, insane, or hiding something darker beneath the surface. "Why?"
