Her gaze flicked to me. A challenge. A test.
I didn’t react.
“Ten minutes,” she added. Not asking. Stating. Then she turned and walked down the short hall toward the bathroom, duffel slung over her shoulder like armor.
The door closed behind her. The lock clicked. The temperature in the room changed. I kept my eyes on Flint. It took effort.
Flint took one step toward me—just one, but it was enough. Close enough now that the tension wasn’t theoretical anymore.
“You need to back off,” he said quietly.
I didn’t move.
“From her,” he clarified. “From whatever this is.”
“You’re reading it wrong,” I said.
Flint let out a short, humorless breath. “You really going to pretend this is just about the case?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because it is.”
He searched my face, clearly looking for something—defensiveness, possessiveness, heat.
What he found instead unsettled him more.
“You’re crossing lines,” he said. “Professional ones. Personal ones.”
“You’re assuming motivation,” I replied. “That’s sloppy.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m assuming you want her.”
That was the word he chose. Want. Emotional. Human.
I shook my head once. “No.”
He scoffed softly. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to understand that this isn’t a competition,” I said. “Even if it feels like one to you.” I hadn’t intended to strike out at him, verbally or otherwise. Too late to take the words back though.
Flint’s shoulders squared, instinctively defensive. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m some jealous?—”
“I’m not talking about jealousy,” I cut in, still calm. “I’m talking about positioning.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think this is chess.”
“I think it’s timing,” I corrected. “And proximity. And response.”
“And she’s what?” he demanded. “A piece?”
“No,” I said. “She’s a variable.”
That stopped him.
The distinction mattered.
“You’re protecting her,” I continued. “From me. From him. From herself. That instinct is predictable. Useful, even.”
He bristled. “Don’t.”
