“Sit.” He gestured toward the table as he took his seat, draping a paper napkin across his lap before handing me a fork.
I did.
“We’ll go over the mirror again,” he said, “and then you’re going to tell me exactly how confident you are that whoever’s doing this will take the bait.”
The way he said it made one thing clear.
This wasn’t just about the numbers anymore. I opened up the laptop and set it off to the side of the table where we could eat and still go through the code.
He didn’t look at the screen. He looked at me.
“You’re not operating at full capacity,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
I kept my voice steady, careful not to give anything away. “Neither is the system.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Explain.”
I shifted the laptop slightly, angling it so he could see without breaking the space between us. “They won’t be able to help themselves,” I said. “Because the mirror doesn’t just copy our environment. It behaves like a system that expects to be trusted.”
He remained still, his attention fully locked onto me, not the screen.
“Whoever’s doing this isn’t forcing access,” I continued. “They’re comfortable. Familiar with the rhythms. They know when checks run, when oversight relaxes, when no one’s watching because no one thinks they need to be. When the live system goes quiet, they’ll assume we’re doing maintenance. A patch. Something routine.”
“And they’ll try again,” he said.
“Yes. Especially if we let everyone know the system will come down for maintenance. They’ll use that.” I nodded once. “Because that’s what they’ve been doing all along. Waiting for when we’re doing other things.”
“You’re certain?” he asked.
“I am.”
“How certain?”
I met his gaze. “Enough that I’d stake my job on it.”
Silence settled between us, but I didn’t back down.
“Confidence like that usually comes from rest,” he said evenly.
I opened the takeout container, then paused. The paper liner, the familiar stamp in the corner. Bastian’s. Of course it was.
“Or experience,” I said, lifting the fork.
“Experience leaves marks,” he replied. “So does exhaustion.”
His eyes stayed on me, not the food, as if the answer he was waiting for had nothing to do with either.
I took a bite, more for grounding than hunger. “I’m functioning.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t sleep,” I said after a moment. “But it won’t affect my work.”
“I believe you,” he said. “What I’m evaluating is how much it’s costing you.”
I held his gaze. “Then you should know it won’t break me.”
