Strut raised a brow. However, before he could respond, the door swung inward with a confidence that suggested the person on the other side had never once considered the possibility of being denied entry.
A handsome, dark-skinned man appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the space with an almost palpable ease. His expression was calm, as though he were stepping into his personal bedroom rather than the office of a fortress commander—a man who, by all rights, should have commanded a degree of deference. He wore the distinctive deep crimson coat of the Blood Lotus division, its high collar embroidered with silver threading that caught what little light the dying afternoon offered. Beneath it, his armor was lighter than standard issue, designed for mobility rather than prolonged siege work, and it bore none of the scratches or dents that marked Gauss's plate. His boots were clean, almost pristine, as if mud and blood knew better than to stain them.
