The moment Ryn could fully see the Admin's mask was when his mind started racing.
The element of surprise was gone.
His gaze locked onto the Admin's black porcelain mask, cataloging details he'd learn to recognize a lifetime ago.
This one's mask was more subtle, less ornamental and more built for efficiency.
Grade Two, Ryn thought grimly.
The Administrators he'd encountered before, both in Deimos and Dunwick, had been little more than caretakers. Grade One. Noncombatants that were tasked with cleanup and observation.
Dangerous only if left long enough.
This person wasn't that.
Their posture was ready, with no obvious openings at a first glance, clearly used to being on the battlefield.
Ryn exhaled slowly and measured himself.
He's gotten stronger over the past weeks, so much so that the past him wouldn't even recognize himself.
I can win this. But only if I take control first.
