Echoing her posture some, Marcus' chin raises that little bit, a shade of discontent to an otherwise neutral expression, to a reflexive kind of staring down. Or the attempt.

"I find it dangerous," he says. "And I know well you're not a child—you have standing as an agent of your division, and we're all at the mercy of what you and your colleagues deem appropriate to recommend and action. And you've decided that Petrana should be the first to volunteer for something that could kill her quicker than the anchor might."

He can't help but think of it in violent terms, no matter how gently the procedure unfold. How clean or how quick or how slow and how methodical. He says the 'first', and doesn't glance at her own absent hand.

"You, alone, have decided this is how Riftwatch is to treat this ailment. Not our healers, not our Provost, but you. Why."