“I do when the consequence is your death.”
My laugh breaks.
“That is the same controlling bullshit in a different uniform, Tur.”
His eyes harden.
“This is not about control. This is about threat mitigation.”
“This is about you not trusting me with the truth because you’re terrified I’ll make a choice you don’t like.”
His mouth tightens.
“You are injured, hunted, and emotionally compromised.”
“Wow,” I say flatly. “You’ve really been workshopping that one, huh.”
He flinches.
“I am trying to keep you alive.”
“And I am trying not to lose my entire goddamn life to men who think secrecy and violence are personality traits.”
Silence detonates between us.
We’re standing so close now I can see the faint pulse jumping in his neck.
He smells like ozone and gun oil and the industrial soap he uses because he doesn’t trust anything scented.
“Why didn’t you tell me,” I demand.
“Because you don’t know how dangerous that node is,” he snaps.
“Then explain it to me.”
“No.”
My chest tightens.
“No,” I repeat.
“Not yet.”
“Tur.”
“I don’t know yet who else is listening,” he says, his voice dropping. “I don’t know which data channels are compromised. I don’t know if the Nine already suspect what’s under there or if they’re still probing blind.”
“So you decided to make that decision alone,” I say. “Again.”
“Yes.”
“You are not the only one whose life this is going to destroy.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
The argument turns sharp and intimate and too close for comfort.
