He's seen it on the battlefields and camps: the otkazat’sya, huddled with their rifles, quietly resenting Grisha. They chose service for a better life, they chose to enlist not because they believe but because anywhere was better than where they were currently and if they work hard enough, they'll earn a meal.

The Darkling glances over at Tim, casual as he continues the conversation, searching for the dullness that denotes a certain type of man or woman who's been through far too much war for one person--the thousand-yard stare that leaves their minds completely blank.

"Our First Army is similar--many enlist for the same reasons as you." He nods, mostly to himself, still looking closely at Tim's face.