"Would you like me to polish your boots, boss?"
Holden stopped walking. He turned slowly to look at Henry.
The noble's melted visor was hanging around his neck. His armor was covered in acid scars. Dirt and purple dust matted his previously perfect hair. And he was holding Holden's pack like a dutiful servant.
"Henry. I said stop calling me boss."
"Right. Sorry. Holden."
"Better."
"And I don't need my boots polished. They're already resistant to acid."
"Of course. I should have thought of that."
Holden pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just... walk. Please."
Henry nodded eagerly and fell into step behind him, practically marching.
The rest of the Vance squad fell in line behind Henry like ducklings following their mother. One of them was already trying to carry Renna's pack alongside his own. Another kept offering to set up tents. A third was asking Emric if he needed his shield polished.
"Your shield looks dull, sir. I have a cloth."
