"The messages stopped three days ago," I said. "Right when I joined."
"I thought maybe it was working. Maybe tighter security made them back off."
"That's what they wanted you to think. They didn't back off, they changed tactics. Messages are psychological. Physical presence is an escalation. They're testing boundaries."
He processed that silently. His eyes held mine, dark brown, almost black. Something about the way he looked at me made it hard to focus on anything else. Like if I glanced away, he might disappear.
"You believe me," he said.
"Yes."
"Not everyone does when I say something feels wrong. Management has protocols. Data they trust. If the data doesn't show a threat, they assume I'm overreacting."
Redwater. The escalation pattern I'd reported that didn't meet the proper threshold. Being right and punished for it.
"I know what it's like when people don't believe you until it's too late," I said.
His gaze sharpened. "Seattle?"
I hadn't planned to tell him. But sitting here at midnight with this exhausted, frightened man who'd asked for me—the words came.
"Eighteen months ago. Someone got access to my principal's schedule—route maps, timing, vehicle assignments. Information only three people had." I flexed my hands. "I was one of them."
"What happened?"
"Someone hit his car. Planned ambush. He survived, but the crash destroyed his knee." The memory tasted metallic. "No proof I'd leaked anything. But someone got information I was responsible for securing."
Rune moved closer. Not touching, but near enough that I could feel his body heat. His scent—something clean and faintly sweet—made my awareness narrow.
"They blamed you," he breathed.
"They blamed the system failure. I was part of the system."
"You didn't do it."
"I can't prove that."
"I don't need proof." His voice was firm. "I've watched you work. You move like someone who sees three steps ahead. That's not carelessness."
My chest constricted. "That's why it's worse. If I'd been sloppy, I'd understand what I did wrong. But I wasn't. I was careful. And it still happened."
"What if someone set you up, and the system chose not to defend you because it was easier to let you go?"
No one had said it that plainly. Hearing it spoken made it real in a way that hurt.
"I don't know," I said finally.
"That's the worst part, isn't it? Not knowing. Carrying blame for something you can't prove you didn't cause."
"Yes."
He understood viscerally. I could see it in his shoulders and his breathing.
"What do you carry?" I asked.
His smile held no humor. "Everything I'm not allowed to want."
"Like what?"
