Damian's crimson eyes shifted to the person who had arrived.
The man wore a luxurious black military police uniform, his black hair swept back from a middle-aged face that carried the weathering of decades spent making hard decisions.
His black eyes held the same composure Damian had seen in his mother's gaze a thousand times.
The resemblance was immediate and undeniable.
Then his attention snapped back to the man whose wrist was being held.
'Marshal Eckhart.'
The title registered properly now, clicking into place with everything he'd heard about the Federation's military structure.
'One of the Nine Marshals... The highest-ranked military officials who guard humanity's frontlines, permanently stationed in the northern regions.'
His eyes tracked back to the man in the military police uniform, pieces falling together with stark clarity.
'And if this is Marshal Eckhart...'
The face that looked so much like his mother's.
