He nodded once. “He had to be back at the network.”
I studied his face. Brewster was careful with expressions, but absence has a way of sharpening perception. There was no irritation there. No satisfaction. Just… acceptance.
Like Flint’s departure had been inevitable.
“Did he say anything?” I asked.
Brewster took a sip of his coffee. “Nothing worth repeating.”
I waited for more. He didn’t offer it. “Is that a tactic?” I asked. “Or a personality trait?”
“Which?”
“Letting people remove themselves.”
He met my eyes then. Held them. “People tell you more by what they leave behind than what they say on the way out.”
I considered that. Considered how Flint always filled space. Noise. Warnings. Fear disguised as concern. How his quiet felt… cleaner.
“I didn’t ask him to go,” I said.
“I know.”
“You didn’t stop him.”
“No.”
There it was.
I crossed my arms. “You’re using his absence.”
“I’m allowing it,” Brewster corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “One creates resistance. The other reveals intent.”
I huffed a short laugh. “You make everything sound like a lab experiment.”
“Where you make everything sound like a story,” he replied. “We both believe structure reveals truth.”
That gave me pause.
He set his phone down on the counter, screen dark. Not offering it. Not hiding it. Just… placing it aside.
“You haven’t said anything,” he continued. “Publicly.”
“I told you I wouldn’t.”
“And you meant it.” Was that a judgment or just an observation?
I shrugged. “Restraint isn’t new to me.” I also didn’t need to defend or explain myself. It irked me that I was.
“No,” he agreed. “But this kind is.”
I tilted my head. “Meaning?”
“You’re not reacting,” he said. “You’re waiting.”
