I'd confessed.
Eamon was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Griffin. Are you in love with him?"
I didn't answer immediately. Couldn't. My throat was too tight.
"Griffin."
"I don't know." My words came out raw. "I don't—I'm trying not to be. I'm trying to stay professional and maintain distance and do my job, but—" I stopped. "I can't stop thinking about him. I forgot to track the crew tonight because I was watching him perform. I stood there and forgot to do my job because all I could think about was—"
I couldn't finish.
"You're falling," Eamon said quietly.
"Yes, and I don't know how to stop."
Silence on the other end. No judgment
"Does that disqualify me?" I asked.
"No." Eamon's voice was firm. "It means you're in dangerous territory. The emotions aren't the problem—it's whether you can still separate your judgment from your fear. Right now, I hear the terror in your voice."
"How will I know whether I'm still doing my job?"
"You ask someone you trust whether your assessment makes sense, independent of your emotional investment." Papers rustling. "So I'm asking. If this were a different principal with no attachment, would you still be concerned about the threat pattern?"
I ran the scenario through my head, stripping away everything personal.
"Yes," I said. "The pattern is wrong."
"Then trust that. Your instincts are sound. The attachment might complicate your life, but it's not compromising your judgment. At least not yet."
"What happens if it does?"
"You communicate it, and you give the principal agency to decide what risks they're willing to take. Document everything so no one can accuse you of acting unilaterally." Eamon's voice softened. "And remember that protecting someone doesn't mean deciding for them."
"What if staying creates vulnerability?"
"Then you make that vulnerability visible. You don't make yourself the variable that disappears to solve the problem. Stay. Be honest. Let the principal choose." Eamon's voice was firm but gentle. "And Griffin, whatever's happening between you and Rune, handle it carefully. Not because it's wrong, but because it matters."
"I don't know how to do this. How to protect him and—"
"And care for him at the same time?"
"Yes."
"Do both. Openly. Honestly. Trust your judgment and always give him truth." He paused. "Call me tomorrow and get some sleep. You sound like you're holding yourself together with duct tape and spite."
He ended the call.
Chapter eight
Rune - Vancouver - May 8
The hotel conference room transformed overnight into something procedurally intimate.
Staff arranged tables in a semicircle. Eight chairs on our side, twenty-four on theirs. It was the geometry of sanctioned proximity.
Nothing suggested a space designed for business. There were no projector screens or corporate art. What remained was aggressively neutral: beige carpet, recessed lighting that didn't flatten our faces, and individually wrapped snacks no one would touch.
