It’s not a good lie.
It’s not even a competent one.
I step closer.
Not into his space.
Just close enough that I can feel the faint heat coming off his body, the way the air around him always feels a degree warmer than the rest of the room, like he’s running on a different thermostat than the rest of humanity.
“You went silent after you went back to my restaurant,” I say. “Like actually silent. Not your normal broody, morally tortured Batman routine. You came back with your jaw locked and your eyes weird and you spent six hours reinforcing perimeter sensors that were already reinforced.”
Click.
Slide.
Tap.
Lock.
“Alliance pings spiked that same night,” I continue. “Not just general background noise. Actual deep-layer triangulation attempts. Ishaan confirmed it. Twice.”
His shoulders tense.
I take another step.
Still not touching him.
“You’ve been sleeping in two-hour shifts since then,” I say quietly. “You rerouted three data feeds through dead relays thatdon’t even exist on modern maps. And you’ve started running kill-corridor drills like you’re bracing for a siege.”
Click.
Slide.
Tap.
“You found something under my family’s foundation,” I finish.
This time, his hands stop.
The pulse pistol lies in pieces on the counter.
The room feels smaller all of a sudden.
He exhales slowly through his nose.
“I told you there was something valuable there,” he says carefully.
I feel heat bloom behind my eyes.
“That’s not an answer,” I say. “That’s a politician’s dodge wrapped in tactical jargon.”
He finally turns to face me.
His expression is tight and controlled and just barely holding together with discipline and duct tape.
“I’m not lying to you,” he says.
“You are absolutely lying to me,” I reply. “You’re just doing it by starving me of specifics instead of saying something factually untrue.”
