A faint, precise smile forming.
“Something that reminds her exactly what happens when she takes up too much space.”
The room goes still.
Because that’s not strategy.
That’s something else entirely.
And as Sentinel steps back into shadow, already calculating timing, placement, response—
One thing is certain.
He’s not trying to break Scout Fallon.
He’s trying to make her break herself.
30
Scout
It shouldn’t matter.
That’s the first thing I tell myself.
It’s just a room.
Just people moving in and out, voices low, screens shifting, the steady rhythm of controlled chaos that always follows something like this.
Normal.
Manageable.
Safe.
I stand near the table, reviewing the same data for the third time—not because I need to.
Because repetition keeps things steady.
Predictable.
Contained.
“Scout.”
I glance up.
It’s one of the techs—new, I think. Early thirties. Quiet type. Keeps his head down. Doesn’t interrupt unless he has to.
“I pulled the secondary logs you asked for,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply.
My voice is soft.
Even.
Automatic.
