Miles jolts at that growling blow. Can't hide the flash of hurt in his expression, though he turns his face away enough to keep it mostly out of sight. This man doesn't know Miles. Can't know him. And even if he did, what would the difference be? Nothing. Or worse, an extra layer of disgust and disappointment. But it's still utter poison. Twisting him up inside, making him do stupid things.

(Had it been a betrayal to take Piotr's side? The decision had been tactically sound. But he's not sure he can think straight around his grandfather either. The two factors are not mutually exclusive.)

"Make me an officer then, and maybe I will die." And you can be rid of me, Miles thinks. He can be done with his whole goddamned mess. But that's dangerously close to flippancy. "I am capable. I've handled other assignments well. Other guard rotations." This wasn't his first night out there, after all. Just the worst. "And I am still expendable in the end."