POV: Silas Carter.
The thing about dungeon work, the part that nobody who hadn't done it understood, was how much of it was waiting.
Waiting for the gate assessment. Waiting for the formation call. Waiting for Gareth to finish having opinions about the entry approach, which he always had, which were always extensive, and which were always—Silas would admit this privately and never out loud—usually correct.
He was currently on his thirtieth minute of waiting, leaning against the exterior wall of what had been a parking structure before the gate opened in its southeast corner and the association had cordoned off the surrounding block with the brisk efficiency of a city that had been doing this for a hundred years.
The gate was a mid-tier A-rank. Standard designation, standard hazard level, standard recommended party composition. Six was the recommended number, low for a standard party because they had an S rank and two High A ranks now.
