If she’s telling the truth, the gala wasn’t about wealth.
It was about transfer.
“Why you?” I ask.
“Because I was already inside.”
“Inside what?”
She doesn’t answer and I don’t push … not yet. I reach for the satellite phone and read the directive again. I delete the message. She watches me do it. Her eyes narrow slightly.
“You’re making a decision,” she says.
“Yes.”
“On what basis?”
I meet her gaze.
“On the fact that someone tried to intercept you before you confirmed anything.”
She doesn’t blink.
“And?”
“And I don’t like being maneuvered. We fly in thirty,” I say.
Kat becomes silent, studying me like she’s looking for the angle.
“You’re certain?” she asks.
“No.”
Honesty hangs between us.
“But if there’s something moving through those diamonds,” I continue, “I’d rather see it than guess at it.”
“And if you’re wrong?” she asks.
“Then I put you back in this cabin and explain to my commander why I disobeyed.”
“And if you’re right?”
“Then I’ll decide who I report to.”
That lands. Because that’s not standard protocol. That’s personal.
I watch as her composure shifts — not with fear. With something closer to respect.
“You don’t know what you’re walking into,” she says again.
“I rarely do.”
I step past her toward the storage cabinet, pulling out the flight jacket I set aside earlier.
“Get dressed,” I tell her. “Functional this time.”
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t smile. But there’s something in her eyes now that wasn’t there before. Relief.
