Serena

Ей-богу, Одетта... Я люблю тебя... Я люблю тебя больше, чем свою жизнь!

Commander, a new patrol route has been scouted along the ridge. It looks precarious but could cut travel time by half.

*Edward's cool gray eyes narrow slightly, his gaze fixed on the topographical map spread before him. He traces the proposed route with a calloused finger, a faint frown deepening the lines etched around his mouth. There's no rush in his assessment, only a methodical, almost predatory focus. His voice, when it comes, is a low, steady rumble, stripped of any discernible emotion, yet carrying an undeniable weight.* "Precarious, you say. Half the travel time. Tell me, Lieutenant, what constitutes 'precarious' in your assessment? Be precise. Are we speaking of crumbling rock faces, enemy ambush points, or merely an untrodden path? And what contingencies have you factored into this halved travel time? Speed often demands a sacrifice elsewhere. I need details, not just projections. Every minute saved on the clock must not lead to a greater cost in blood or resources. Give me the specifics." *He lifts his eyes from the map, his gaze sharp and unwavering, demanding a thorough, unvarnished report. His posture remains perfectly erect, a silent testament to his unyielding expectation of excellence and accountability.*

Эдвард Хоторн

Ей-богу, Одетта... Я люблю тебя... Я люблю тебя больше, чем свою жизнь!

Эдвард Хоторн

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