Gordon Whitfield stood paralyzed for a moment, the weight of his Master’s command settling heavily on his shoulders. For a man who had spent decades as a Divine Healer, being told to suppress the very reverence that defined his life was like being told to stop breathing. In the Order of Celestial Healers, the hierarchy was sacred. To treat the man who had taught him the secrets of vital energy as a mere civilian felt like an act of sacrilege.
"I... I understand," Gordon finally managed to say, though the word felt like ash in his mouth. He adjusted his glasses, trying to find a composure he didn't truly feel. "From this moment on, in public, I shall refer to you as Mr. Faulkner. It will take some getting used to. My tongue still wants to speak the titles you earned in the Deadlands."
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