“Yes,” he agreed. “For now.”
I turned away, restless energy prickling under my skin. This was the part I understood—the narrowing, the quiet before something broke open. The moment when a subject leaned forward without realizing it.
“He’s not threatening,” I said and this fact offered a new layer of intrigue to our dialogue—well, what was the opening gambit of our dialogue. “He’s testing me.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Brewster’s words sounded more like an aside than an observation and when I cut a look toward him, he frowned. Did he not mean to say that aloud?
Too late now. Eyebrows raised, I waited for him to explain.
His sigh was long. “He’s issuing you an invitation.”
That caused a record scratch to shriek through my thoughts. “For what?”
“Partnership,” he said. “Even if only conceptually.”
I snorted softly. “You’re projecting.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” I said, firming my tone and my conviction. “You’re the one who thinks everything is a conversation.”
“And you’re the one who believes control of the narrative equals control of the danger,” he countered, unimpressed.
The accusation cut too damn deep.
I dropped my hands to my hips, resisting the urge to fold my arms. “So you think I’m wrong.”
Brewster didn’t answer right away. He studied me for a second, like he was choosing his words on purpose. “I think you’re very good at shaping a story.”
“And?” I prompted. There was absolutely anandcoming.
“And you’re not always as good at noticing when someone starts shaping it back.”
I blinked. “You think I’m misreading him.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then whatareyou saying?” My tone sharpened despite myself. “Because right now it sounds like you’re arguing semantics.”
He sighed, a small, tired sound. “I’m saying that from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s working off your outline.”
“That’s what we wanted,” I said. “That’s the point.”
His mouth twitched, but there was no humor in it. “Just be careful what you reward.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it felt like the air had thickened around us, like something invisible had stepped into the room and neither of us had invited it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Once.
I pulled it out.
Unknown number.
One line.
Still quiet
