“This doesn’t stay contained,” he said. “Not anymore.”
Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re no longer safe in this building,” he replied. “And neither is anyone who believes this is an internal problem.”
She shook her head slowly. “You think it’s bigger.”
“I know it is.”
Someone with deep knowledge of Severin systems. Someone who understood legacy access pathways, credential mirroring, biometric presence. Someone who also understood Dante branding well enough to weaponizeit.
That narrowed the field.
Dangerously.
“If I leave,” Sera said, voice shaking despite her effort, “that makes me look guilty.”
“Yes,” Alaric said. “Which is why I’m ordering it.”
She stared at him, disbelief cutting through her fear. “You’re saying I should disappear so it looks like they were right about me?”
“I’m saying you stepping out of sight confirms the story they’ve already written,” he replied. “It closes the loop. An internal threat is identified, isolated, and removed.”
Her throat worked. “Even if it destroys my credibility.”
“Temporarily,” he said. “And only on paper.”
She shook her head once, sharp. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense to anyone watching,” he said evenly. “They’ll think the threat was neutralized. That the problem resolved itself cleanly.”
Her breath came shallow. “And if we’re wrong?”
“Then we get time to identify the real actor and resolve the situation onmyterms.”
Timewas everything.
He stepped back and picked up his jacket, shrugging into it with deliberate calm. Command restored, even if the ground beneath it had shifted irrevocably.”Gather your belongings,” he said. “Everything. No devices you didn’t arrive with.”
“You’re sending me home,” shesaid.
“I’m removing you from the board,” he corrected. “Until I know who’s moving the pieces.”
Her eyes filled, just barely. She blinked hard, forcing the emotion back down. “You don’t trust anyone.”
“I trust outcomes,” he replied.
The words were measured, but they didn’t land cleanly. Not with the way his gaze held hers, not with the charged awareness humming between them now that the truth was exposed. He was suddenly conscious of how close she stood. Of the faint hitch in her breathing. Of the fact that the room seemed smaller, tighter, as if the distance between them had quietly disappeared.
She nodded once. Acceptance, not agreement. But her eyes stayed on his, searching, holding. “I didn’t choose this,” she said, softer now, the admission threaded with something dangerously intimate—vulnerability laid bare in front of the one man whose judgment matteredmost.
“I know,” he answered.
The words came out low, but they carried more weight than he intended. They lingered between them, charged, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with strategy. He was acutely aware of her nearness now—the warmth of her body just within reach, the way her breath slowed as if she were listening for something beneath his restraint. For a single, dangerous moment, he wondered what would happen if he closed that last inch of space, anchored her there with his hands instead of sending heraway.
The thought flared hot and immediate—and then he killed it. Any touch, any visible hesitation, would fracture the narrative he needed the world to believe. If he reached for her now, if he let even a hint of intimacy show as he escorted her out, it would turn suspicion into doubt. And doubt was a luxury he couldn’t afford if he wanted her disappearance to read as final.
The truth of it settled between them, heavy and unspoken. Not just the danger, but the cost of the restraint he’d chosen and the awareness she now carried with her ashe turnedaway.
