“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“You felt Alliance tracking light up and you still didn’t tell me.”
“Yes.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“What,” I ask quietly, “did you find.”
His throat works.
“There’s a node,” he says. “A buried transit convergence hub. Not just pipes and cables. A logistical artery from a pre-Alliance network that predates modern jurisdictional maps.”
The words feel unreal.
Too big.
Too old.
Too far outside the scope of my former life, which revolved around spice orders and broken fryers and whether Mara remembered to rotate the lemons.
“Is that why the Nine are pushing so hard,” I ask. “Because they want what’s under my floor.”
“Yes.”
“And is that why the Alliance suddenly decided you were a containment breach again.”
“Yes.”
I laugh.
It comes out thin and sharp and not even remotely amused.
“So,” I say. “Let me get this straight. My grandparents accidentally built a restaurant on top of a ghost artery from a secret military transit network, the mob wants to evict me so they can dig it up, and the Alliance parked you in my city like a watchdog and never bothered to mention that part to you.”
His eyes close.
Just for a second.
“Yes.”
I take another step toward him.
Now we’re standing too close.
The air between us feels thick and electric and tight enough to snap.
“And you decided,” I say softly, “that all of this was something you could just… manage on your own.”
His eyes open again.
“I decided that telling you everything I found would make you more of a target than you already are.”
“You don’t get to make that call,” I say.
