Yes, Piotr's heard it twice, three times, four, five, fuck, and none of it abates his rage. This new clusterfuck of a tactical situation -- and goddammit, the Emperor's granddaughter. And his sister-in-law. He has never bothered personalizing his opposition to Zahal, but hell if this doesn't fucking feel personal.

When Piotr looks up at Miles, it isn't that cool, flat stare, that stone-faced intensity that could all but push a weaker man out of the room. His eyes are hard and angry and blazing, his jaw tight, his entire body tense with the effort of containing that fury.

"If you're not here to tell me anything I don't already know," he snarls, "then get the fuck out."