“You want them to survive,” he said. “That’s your flaw.”
“No,” I replied evenly. “That’s my line.”
Sentinel chuckled softly. “You don’t get lines anymore, Scout. You get choices.”
The screen split.
Two feeds appeared.
One showed a man strapped into a chair—mid-thirties, military posture even under sedation. Breathing shallow. Alive.
The other—
A woman. Younger. Civilian. Eyes wild with fear.
“You recognize the protocols,” Sentinel said. “You know how this ends.”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
Not to brace.
To decide.
“You want me to optimize your outcomes,” I said.
“I want you to engage.”
“If I refuse?”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
I opened my eyes and stepped closer to the console.
“Logan,” I thought, steady and focused.
This is where I stop whispering.
I keyed in a single adjustment—not enough to save both.
Enough to delay.
Enough to alter stress-response thresholds just slightly off baseline.
Sentinel leaned forward.
“What did you change?” he asked.
I met my reflection in the glass.
“Your assumption,” I said.
The system recalibrated.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
