"Are they… people?"
"They're persons enough to be owed rules and names," Mikhailis said at once. He did not look away from the Riftborne when he said people; he looked at all of them in turn. "They volunteered for this deployment. They know the risks. They know me." He drew a breath, thumb rubbing a scuff on his glove as if polishing the words. "We treat them like my soldiers, not my tools. We grieve them if we must. And we don't 'field test' them to death." The last sentence had a tight wire inside. Not again. He didn't let that thought out.
He checked himself and added, gentler, "Back home, each has a name. I don't use them down here because names stick to walls. But I know them. They know me." The sentence didn't try to be pretty. It didn't need to.
The Riftborne bowed that slight, unnerving bow again. The bone rings on its staff didn't rattle. It did not need noise to be heard.
