Commander Xander Cross drew in a measured breath, his broad chest rising beneath the layered armor, the faint creak of leather straps audible even over the restless shifting of soldiers.
He let the breath out deliberately, forcing the anger from his muscles before it could turn into action.
"Very well," he said at last, his voice controlled but edged with iron. "I will remain at a distance until you enter your store. Once you are inside, you will be safe, correct? I am told that anyone who steps into your premises suffers suppression of the soul."
The words were not an accusation.
They were an evaluation.
Arceus Silver blinked faintly at that.
Suppression? He had visited Nexus before and never felt such pressure. A faint crease appeared between his brows as she replayed his earlier visits in memory. Had he been too weak to sense it? Was the suppression selective? Or had it evolved?
