“He closes distance,” Sentinel says quietly. “Too quickly.”
“That’s standard protective behavior.”
“No,” Sentinel replies. “That’s preference.”
A pause.
“He chose proximity.”
The man shifts. “Sir, with respect, that seems—”
“Human?” Sentinel finishes.
A thin smile.
“Yes.”
That’s the flaw.
Not hers.
His.
Sentinel studies the frame again, eyes narrowing slightly.
“She doesn’t raise her voice,” he murmurs. “Even under pressure.”
“No.”
“She doesn’t demand.”
“No.”
“But she responds… when she’s heard.”
That part is quieter.
More dangerous.
Because it means—
“She doesn’t need force,” Sentinel says.
The man goes still.
“She needs space.”
Understanding flickers.
Slow.
Uncomfortable.
“You’re not going to attack her,” the man says.
Sentinel finally looks at him fully.
“No.”
